


Bring the Heat

by ImJaebabie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Background Relationships, Baseball Idiots, Baseball Player Mark Lee (NCT), Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan Is The Sun, M/M, Mark Lee & Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas Are Best Friends, Surprise Kissing, Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas Being an Idiot, boys being dumb, didn't know THAT was a tag but i guess its relevant, dunk tank things, oh man i dont know where to start, town fair au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-28 01:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19801582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImJaebabie/pseuds/ImJaebabie
Summary: It’s worse when he’s wet, sitting once again on the plank while another kid lines up to take his shot at the dunk tank. His slim, tan legs dangle from the seat, water running down his skin from his red swim shorts, his navy t-shirt clinging to his thin frame. His smile hasn’t dimmed a watt, and Yukhei doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he’s also never seen this boy before.





	Bring the Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Dear prompter: I hope I did you proud. If not, I offer my deepest apologies, and hope you aren't too disappointed.

There’s a thick tension in the air as the player jogs off the field, his hopes of reaching even first base shattered by Yukhei’s three-strikes-and-out pitching game. He’s the second out of the inning, and it’s the bottom of the ninth. The field is hot with energy and late summer humidity, and the grass between the mound and home plate seems to sizzle as Yukhei looks across it. Mark stands behind the plate and shakes out his knees, stretching as the last batter strides up to the bag, lazily swinging the bat in his hand with a faux casual air. 

This is it, thinks Yukhei, and keeps his eyes on the plate. He can’t get distracted. 

[Start the clock!]

_(A number of weeks earlier)_

Monday. 

“Look, you can beg me all you want, but I’m not going on the ferris wheel, Yukhei. I don’t care how good the view is, I hate those kind of heights and you know it.” 

“Fine.” Yukhei stops his pestering as they continue towards the ticket booth. “Be lame then.” He could probably manhandle Mark into one of the ferris baskets if he really wanted to, but it’s not worth it.

Mark just rolls his eyes and spits the hull of a sunflower seed into the paper cup in his hand. 

Yukhei glances up at the slowly churning wheel a bit glumly, but Mark’s ultimatum can’t dampen his spirits completely. And besides, there’s more than just the ferris wheel to entertain them.

It’s a hot summer. The kind that Yukhei usually has to brace himself for, that means scorching practices where his teammates guzzle back whole coolers’ worth of water bottles, and means he has to wipe his hand on his leg before every throw or the ball will fly before he wants to release it. It means their uniforms feel sweaty seconds after they put them on. It means the night air barely cools anything and the flood lights on the diamond feel like a personal sauna.

But it means that when Mark suggests they head to the outskirts of town after morning practice, taking Yukhei’s truck and parking in the dusty gravel lot beside the gate to the fairgrounds, Yukhei agrees immediately. Anything to get out of the city and enjoy summer the way they’re meant to: in bro tanks and shorts and riding the big swinging pirate ship ride just for the relief of the wind in their hair (and because Mark’s screaming is hilarious. It’s not Yukhei’s fault he didn’t know how high it went). 

The fair is in town just for a week. 

The crowds at the fairgrounds aren’t all that different from the ones that pour into the stands to see him and Mark, and the rest of their team, play ball. There are just as many over-excited kids, dads in ill-fitting t-shirts, and high school girls glued together in flocks. It’s behind one of these small flocks that Mark and Yukhei step into line, shuffling forward to exchange cash for tickets that allow them to access the rides and games. They seem caught up in a flurry of whispering.

“No _you_ ask!”

Yukhei fights the smirk that wants to take over his lips, and he can hear Mark’s low chuckle even as he crunches another couple sunflower seeds. He knows what’s coming. 

Eventually, one of the girls stops sneaking glances at them and turns properly, a hesitant confidence on her face.

“Excuse me, but, do you play for the Bombers? The baseball team?” 

“What gave us away?” Yukhei grins, sliding his sunglasses off and hanging them from the front of his tank. He’s well aware they’re both wearing Bombers’ caps, the cherry bomb-shaped logo a dead giveaway. He thinks the girl blushes as her friends giggle, but it could be sunburn. 

“I’m a fan,” she admits, her eyes flitting shyly to Mark. She whispers, “You’re a real catch...I mean! Great catcher! Y-you totally saved last week’s game!” 

As the line continues moving forward, Mark’s trademark laugh fills the hot air. “Thanks, it was a team effort though. I can’t catch shit if Wong doesn’t pitch it first.” 

Yukhei elbows Mark. “Watch your fucking language. We’re public figures or something.” 

The girls’ nerves seem to dissipate amid their surprised giggles, and Mark, like the _catch_ that he is, generously chats about technique with the girl until she and her friends have their tickets in hand, waving as they run off into the mess of tents and bright colors. 

“You’re a saint, Lee,” Yukhei says as Mark approaches the counter. “Adoring fans as far as the eye can see, taking time to chat with high schoolers? I think she was in love with you.” 

“She plays for her school’s softball team; she wanted _pointers_. And she’s a little young for me.” 

“So you’re saying an older girl—”

“You brought cash, right?”

Digging his wallet out, Yukhei drops the question and pulls a few bills free to hand to the ticket clerk. Almost a year and a half together on the team, and Yukhei has yet to see the catcher with _anyone_ , male or female. Which is insane considering how much time they spend around each other. Not that Yukhei like, cares exactly, he just sees it as the last inhibiting thing between them being perfect best friends, and also a little rude since Mark’s fully aware of Yukhei’s preferences. 

“How many tickets?” 

Yukhei hums. “Fifteen?"

The clerk pulls a string of paper tickets from the spool beside him, small deft fingers counting and tearing it off at Yukhei’s desired number. He passes the tickets and change to Yukhei, while Mark meticulously folds his own tickets into a small accordian, and then fixes sharp eyes up at Yukhei from his seat.

“You play baseball?” the ticket clerk asks suddenly, his semi-bored expression unwavering.

“What gave—”

“That’s nice, enjoy the fair. Next please!”

“Um—“

Then a middle-aged woman practically shoves Yukhei out of the line, blustering under her sun hat about tickets for her family of four. Yukhei laughs to himself and shakes his head. Not everyone is a fan. Whatever. 

“Let’s hit up the game booths and work our way around,” he tells Mark, as they join the throngs. “See how many obnoxiously large prizes we can win before someone thinks we’re cheating.” 

[admit one]

“What would you even have done with a five-foot-tall Scooby-Doo stuffed toy anyway?”

Yukhei opens his mouth but Mark holds up a hand before he can answer. 

“No, actually, I take that question back. I don’t wanna know.”

“I’d give it to my _nephew_ , you ass,” Yukhei snaps, but he’s not insulted, and continues smiling as they break in their game play for slurpees. He stirs the neon blue ice in his cup, contemplating. He can’t really fault Mark for his apprehension—not after the whole incident with the Bulldogs’ mascot last season. In Yukhei’s defense, it was the guy _wearing_ the suit he had interest in. 

Mark just says, “Ignorance is bliss,” and tilts a small avalanche of cherry ice into his mouth. 

It’s late in the afternoon, the sun just starting to think about coming down, and as they finish off their drinks Yukhei hears the sound of a splash followed by a cheer. He leans sideways on the bench to look past the foot traffic, and spies the round tub of a dunk tank. 

“I want nachos,” says Mark. “You want nachos?”

“How many tickets d’you think the dunk tank costs?” 

“So no? No to nachos?”

Yukhei counts his remaining tickets, and thinks four is probably enough. If there’s anything there he should be good at, it’s throwing a ball at a target and watching some poor sap plunge into what can only be grotesquely warm water by this point in the day. Not that he enjoys watching people suffer, but because dunk tanks are just inherently entertaining like that.

“You wanna try the dunk tank next?”

Mark sets his mostly-gone slurpee on his knee and stares at Yukhei. He sighs. 

“Ok, never mind, go eat and I’ll do it by myself.”

“Try not to break the game, Ace,” Mark calls after him as Yukhei chucks his empty cup into the trash—a perfect shot—and heads toward the bright green plastic. 

There’s a bit of a line, but not too bad, and the sign states the game costs three tickets, so Yukhei pops a stick of gum into his mouth and settles in to wait his turn. It’ll be cute to see if the kids ahead of him can throw. The structure consists of a round tank painted a lime-ish green, with a window in the front making visible the water above which hovers a narrow plank, ready to drop. The target to its right is built into a faded plastic canvas stretched over a frame and decorated with a caricature of a cartoon clown, the red target centered on his round belly. 

It’s kind of horrific looking, but Yukhei doesn’t care much; what the game looks like hardly matters to him. But shouldn’t there be someone sitting above the tank? The seat is empty, the kids milling around playing games on their phones, and Yukhei is just wondering if maybe the game is actually closed or something when there’s the sound of flip-flops slapping against concrete and a flash of red and blue disappears behind the tank from behind the line. 

“Sorry! Just had to grab a water bottle,” calls a warm, melodic voice from somewhere by the ladder at the back of the tank. “Put your tickets in the bucket and you can go ahead!” Then its owner comes into view, climbing up and maneuvering carefully into place at the end of the dunk plank. 

Yukhei doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Lust at first sight, maybe, but this doesn’t feel like that either. It’s like… one minute he’s planning how fast to pitch his throw to impress the kids once it’s his turn, and the next moment he can’t remember what he’s in line for in the first place. He’s just staring, aware of his own jaw hanging loose, feeling unhinged at the sight of arguably the most beautiful person Yukhei’s ever witnessed perched above a tank of water and smiling brighter than the baseball diamond’s floodlights. 

Then there’s a dull thunk, and the seat drops, and that person falls into the vat of water as the group of boys burst into laughter and high five one another. 

Yukhei starts, practically ready to climb the tank and dive in after him, when the boy quickly resurfaces. He comes up laughing, flicking the sopping wet, chocolate brown hair from his eyes with a skillful jerk of his chin, and climbs out of the water. 

Oh god.

It’s worse when he’s wet, sitting once again on the plank while another kid lines up to take his shot. His slim, tan legs dangle from the seat, water running down his skin from his red swim shorts, his navy t-shirt clinging to his thin frame. His smile hasn’t dimmed a watt, and Yukhei _doesn’t_ believe in love at first sight, but he’s also never seen this boy before. 

Trying to pull his senses back into order, Yukhei gulps in a breath of humid air and inadvertently swallows his gum. The discomfort lasts just long enough for the kids in front of him to miss their remaining pitches and walk off teasing each other. Then suddenly Yukhei is facing the brightly painted target, with the prospect of dunking a boy prettier than any dream Yukhei’s ever had into six feet of vaguely murky water.

“Tickets first, big guy,” the boy says, grinning sunnily at Yukhei as he ruins his life with one casual epithet, “and three chances. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Then he just sits there, being… _him_ , and Yukhei has never felt nervous like this even in front of thousands of people with bets placed on his arm. 

He hesitates for a second, then Yukhei rolls his shoulder back and aims a gentle pitch—

—just as someone runs behind him, barking an obnoxious laugh that startles him. The throw misses the target by a solid foot, and Yukhei stares at the ball dumbly as it rolls across the concrete.

“Ouch, too bad, hot shot. Almost thought you had me in the bag there, a one-and-done dunk. Or can you do better?” 

“Um, yeah, of course? That was just a fluke, if anyone can do this, I can,” Yukhei clips, defensive, because he’s a _starting pitcher_ dammit, and it’s ridiculous of the guy to tease him over a bad throw when everyone knows what Yukhei does for his modest living. 

The boy swings his legs, kicking at the water and tilting his head at Yukhei, whistling mockingly. “Sure talk a big game, huh? You know, just ‘cause you never miss arm day with the bros doesn’t guarantee you’ll be good at everything vaguely athletic.” 

Yukhei gawks, looking between the boy and the target, and his hands start moving in sweeping gestures just like they do every time he’s flustered and trying to explain himself. “Of course not! It takes accurate aim and—and, other shit...muscle control, practice, skill...not just like brute strength, to throw professionally—”

“Okay, okay,” the boy laughs, “don’t take it too seriously. It’s just a game, big guy, no one here is a professional.”

Except that _Yukhei is,_ but he’s too shocked that this boy doesn’t know that to actually point it out. How doesn’t he recognize him? Yukhei’s been in commercials, for fuck’s sake. Muscle heating patch sales went up in direct correlation with his endorsement. But what’s he supposed to say? So he just tosses another ball, not even remotely surprised when it misses, since he didn’t even attempt to guide it in the right direction. 

The boy quirks half a grin. “Well, you can take it a little more seriously than _that.”_

But Yukhei’s arrived just now at a very simple realization, which is that as soon as he does hit the target, and sends this beautiful human being dropping into a liquid safety net, the game is over, and Yukhei has to walk away.

And he doesn’t really want to leave.

“Is you making fun of everyone who plays also part of the game?” he says instead of taking his final shot, just tossing the ball up and catching it in his palm instead.

“Oh no, the delight of my company is just a bonus. Most people seem to get pretty motivated to win the more I talk, though.”

Yukhei feels pretty much the opposite. If he can just come up with more things to talk about, maybe he’ll never have to throw his last ball, and can just keep talking to the golden angel forever. A couple has just walked up behind him, however, and keep glancing at him questioningly, so he’s not sure how long he can feasibly keep the conversation going.

The boy decides for him. “Better hurry up, I have customers waiting,” he drawls, tossing the couple a wave, and Yukhei can’t argue that. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll go ahead.”

Somehow, he still doesn’t feel like actually winning the game. There’s a feeling he’s not used to, being incognito like this, and he sort of likes it. He doesn’t want to ruin it, so he lets the ball fly a tad too late, and watches with secret satisfaction as it thocks against the plastic well below the target. 

“Yikes, too bad, big guy. Better luck next time!” 

Yukhei steps out of the couple’s way, gathering his missed pitches, and flashes his best, brightest smile at the boy sitting above the tank. “Yeah, next time I’ll get it,” he says, and it’s only half a lie. 

He’ll definitely be back. 

[admit one]

Tuesday.

The only thing Mark says when Yukhei asks if he wants to go back the next day is that he’d been thinking about getting those nachos again anyway. (It strikes Yukhei as sort of a long way to go for nachos, which they can literally get for free at the ballpark, but he’s not about to question Mark’s palate when it means he can end up back at the fair.)

He doesn’t want to tell Mark his reason for coming back, though. There’s the sneaking feeling that if he does, Mark will not only laugh at him for at least the entire ride home, but also be insufferable if Yukhei so much as thinks about the boy at the dunk tank too loudly. 

“Are you gonna buy tickets or are you gonna stare at the price sign all day? Nothing changed.”

Yukhei blinks down at the boy behind the ticket counter, the same bored eyes staring back at him paired with an impatient twist of his thin lips. His did seem like the kind of job that could make anyone cranky, but the guy pulls off the attitude with an almost intimidating flair. 

Mark flicks his elbow. “Hurry up, I’m hungry.” 

So Yukhei fumbles a twenty out of his wallet and grins appeasingly as the tickets are pressed into his hand, and tries not to be too surprised when the boy waves him off with a lazy turn of his wrist. 

As they filter into the fairground, surrounded by throngs of other fairgoers, Yukhei searches his mind for strategies to get back to that specific corner where the dunk tank sat without making Mark suspicious. What else was over there? Either nothing, or his memory is so selectively interested in the golden boy on the plank that he’s forgotten everything else. 

“Why’re we going this way?” Mark asks suddenly, pulling Yukhei out of his mental map.

“Uh, didn’t you want to go this way?”

“No?” 

“Oh, haha, really?” Yukhei nods vigorously, feeling himself start to sweat in a way unrelated to the extreme heat. “Right, sure, don’t know why I thought...but like, I like the uh, games and shit, that’re on this side. So that’s...why.” 

Mark’s perfectly curved eyebrows lift from his eyes. “Alright man, if you want to.” 

Feigning interest in the games and rides around the dunk tank is made extra difficult considering that they’re totally worthless. He really hadn’t looked the day before, and Yukhei is embarrassed to keep up the ruse that he really wanted to hit up one ancient Whack-a-Mole game, a kiddie roller coaster, and an awful “fun house” that smells like sweat and hot plastic, and where the warped mirrors are so scratched from God-knows-what that they don’t even show an actual reflection. Yukhei can’t even stand up straight inside it.

As they escape the little hell house, Mark sends Yukhei a weary look, and Yukhei feels like he’s been wearing his same apologetic smile all two hours they’ve been there. 

“Can’t believe that thing costs two whole tickets...I would’ve just ran out if that kid hadn’t been blocking us on the wobbly bridge thing.”

Yukhei pauses midstep. “Wait. That wasn’t just part of the fun house?”

“Oh my god,” Mark halts too, wide-eyed stare aimed at Yukhei. “Is that why he was dressed like a clown? Holy shit. I thought he was just kinda psycho.” He does a full-body shudder—Yukhei’s seen this before, Mark trying to erase the memory like he’s a human etch-a-sketch. “Ugh. Let’s move on...hey, isn’t that dunk tank over here somewhere?” 

“Heh, is it? I have no idea…” 

Mark has an excellent sense of direction, though, and starts walking directly towards it, which makes Yukhei’s stomach do a series of flips prompted by both fear and excitement. 

Until they’re standing in front of it, and sure there is a good-looking boy manning the plank, but it’s not the same one. Mark elbow-nudges Yukhei’s side, quirking his head at the target.

“Wanna show him your fast ball?” 

The answer is somewhere between he couldn’t care less, and he actively wants to walk away pouting, but he’s never turned down an opportunity to pitch before. “Yeah, why not.” Yukhei drops three tickets in the bucket, leaving him with just six more, and lines up.

The guy hovering above the water smiles warmly, his eyes turning to soft crescents. “Feel like I’m in trouble,” he says with a laugh.

“At least it’ll be over quickly,” Mark advises him, nodding sagely, and Yukhei scratches the back of his neck. He’s not wearing any Bomber’s branded gear today, just to make sure he didn’t tip off the other boy, but just having Mark next to him is a loud enough announcement. 

Yukhei doesn’t bother picking up all three balls. It only takes one toss for him to hit the target dead center, and the guy’s yelp gets cut off by a splash. He’s back above water quickly, though, and laughing. 

“That proves it,” he says, swiping a hand over his face to remove water and wet bangs, “I thought you looked like that pitcher, but now I’m sure.” 

They leave after signing a quick autograph—the guy says his older brother is a bigger fan, but he’s been to a few games and had fun—and Yukhei lets his shoulders sag in disappointment. 

“You okay?”

“Just uh, getting tired? Hungry, I think,” Yukhei replies, because ‘that wasn’t the right extremely cute boy at the dunk tank and I’m missing tan skin and twinkling eyes’ doesn’t roll off the tongue as easily. 

“Great! I mean, cool, ‘cause I‘m starving for those nachos...but um, if you’re worn out, why don’t you just wait here?” Mark takes Yukhei by the shoulder and all but pushes him onto a nearby bench; Yukhei vaguely recognizes it as the same one from the day before. “I’ll grab food and be right back!” 

He jogs off before Yukhei can say anything about it. It’s not like Yukhei minds waiting, though; they did have their usual morning practice so he definitely doesn’t mind a minute’s rest. He takes out his phone to check the time, notes that the fair will still be open a couple of hours, and then leans back into the sun-warm wood of the bench to let his eyes wander. The people-watching at this kind of place is great, after all. He watches a couple pass by, obviously on their first date, and even more obvious that the slightly taller girl, contrasting her cool air, is completely wrapped around the shorter girl’s finger. Then there’s the tiny child, one hand clutched by his mother and the other hand trailing popcorn behind them like bread crumbs, being followed closely by a very pleased-looking dog. He can’t help grinning at both, and watches the dog’s wagging tail until it’s out of sight.

Suddenly, there’s a face he recognizes; the boy from earlier, hair still slicked-wet from falling into the tank of water, passes by with a towel hanging around his neck and waves at Yukhei with a charming smile. His sandals slap against the concrete as he goes, and Yukhei waves back, wondering if the dunk tank is closing early today for some reason. That, or maybe his shift is over. Someone might have taken over for him. That must be it, since the afternoon is still early. 

Yukhei nods to himself, then bolts from his seat a second later. 

From peeking just around the side of a cotton-candy stand, Yukhei gets a decent view of the dunk tank and, consequently, the person running the game. He’d be embarrassed at the flutter in his chest over seeing the golden tint of skin on the boy’s arms, at his excitement over finding the boy from the day before there again, if he wasn’t already childishly hiding behind a candy cart to spy on him. 

“You...gonna get some cotton candy?” a voice asks.

Yukhei turns with a start, noting the presence of the boy inside the stand. “Oh, uh, no.” 

The boy shrugs, then glances the same direction Yukhei has been staring. “Alright,” he says, “kinda thought not. It’s cool, sometimes I stare at him too.”

“Huh? I’m not—”

“No, really, I’m not judging. He’s good-looking, and you’re not the first person to notice. I don’t think you’ll be the last either. But...you’re kinda getting in the way of my customers, so could you maybe move?”

There’s literally no one lined up to buy cotton candy at that moment, but Yukhei’s not about to argue with him over it. He glances at the nametag on the kid’s shirt, and says, “Sure, sorry about that, Jisung. I’ll get out of your way.” He moves out into the open, no longer protected by the stand’s bright, candy-striped walls.

“Thanks,” the boy replies dryly, “oh and good luck with the game tomorrow.”

Normally, Yukhei would accept such wishes with proud confidence and assurances of an inevitable win; for maybe the first time, he feels a creeping heat on his neck and the urge to shush this Jisung before he says anything too loudly. Instead, he nods his thanks and gives a tiny salute before heading the other way.

The line is pretty long, though. And even if he waits for a turn, there’s too many people for him to take up extra time trying to talk to the mystery boy. 

With a sigh, Yukhei turns around and heads back to the cotton candy stand.

“If I buy some, can I hang out here for awhile?”

The cashier, Jisung, shrugs and swipes at the orange bangs hanging in his eyes from under the paper cap Yukhei assumes is part of his uniform. “Whatever.” 

It takes about twenty-five minutes for there to be a solid enough break in the flow of fair-goers that Yukhei can take advantage of. By now, the sun is sliding down towards the horizon and Yukhei’s fingers are sticky with bits of blue spun sugar, and he feels nervous like he almost never does. But maybe that has something to do with the way the glow from the setting sun rests over the dunk tank, blanketing the boy on the plank with its rays like God’s perfect instagram filter in hues of gold and amber, and the fact that Yukhei’s brain has softened enough to get this poetic means he’s in worse trouble than he originally realized.

He turns to Jisung, who has politely—or maybe impolitely, Yukhei isn’t sure—ignored him for the better part of his time standing there.

“How do I look?” 

Jisung offers a flat look. “You want an honest answer?” 

Yukhei runs a hand through the longer hair pushed back from his forehead. “Uh, no?”

“Then you look great,” he says, smiling statically like Yukhei has just ordered ten large sized candy wands. 

“Thank...you, I think…” 

Yukhei leaves with a wave and “go get him, Tiger,” from Jisung, who he’s pretty sure is dead inside from the overbearing heat of the tiny tent he works in, and finally gets to where the water escaped from the tank has left Rorschach splatters across the concrete, drying in patches. The last player has just dropped the balls back in the basket, having been unsuccessful in hitting the target. Yukhei takes his spot, tucking three tickets into their appointed bucket, and draws up the courage to speak.

“Hey—”

“Back, huh? Think you can get me wet, this time?”

“—I, what?!” Having prepared a very cool conversation starter—'hey, how’s it going? Pretty hot again today, isn’t it?'—Yukhei’s brain screeches to a halt and leaves him with a hand hanging just inside the ball-basket and very wrong thoughts about what he’s come there to do exactly. 

The boy raises a golden eyebrow. “Are you gonna hit the target this time? So that I, the dunk-ee, fall helplessly into the water below, subsequently becoming soaked.”

“Oh. Right, yes, that’s what I’m trying to do,” Yukhei lies, as he has no intention of actually hitting the target. He rolls the first ball between his hands instead, trying to look like he’s strategizing his throw. He clears his throat, shifting his glance sideways. “So, has it been—have people dunked you a lot today?”

The boy hums. “Been a little slow actually. I mean, plenty of players, just, few winners. I’m actually hot.”

“You can say that again.” The words are out of Yukhei’s mouth before he even knows they were in it, and he screams internally, that at least staying non-verbalized. “I mean! It’s super hot out, which you can say again, cause...it’s still true.” Yukhei turns away and throws his first pitch instinctually, low and weak so it slaps against the bottom of the tarp and rolls to the side of the tank.

“You may actually be worse at talking than at hitting that target…” the boy jibes, but when Yukhei looks over sheepishly, he’s lying sideways on the plank and resting his head on one palm, grinning sunnily back at Yukhei. 

He’s right. Yukhei needs to relax, take it naturally. He lets out a long breath and laughs. 

“I’m not usually like this…” he explains, “I do know how to talk to people.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, check this out. How’d you end up with this job?” 

The boy scrunches his chin, pressing his lips together in an expression of moderate approval. “Not bad, we can work with that angle. It’s volunteer, actually, but I get credit hours that I need for school so it’s all good. And it beats summer classes or sitting around home bored.” 

Yukhei picks up another ball, just to have something to do with his hands. “You actually like getting dumped into this bucket all day?”

“I don’t mind it, it’s occasionally refreshing. Better than working the fun house like last summer.”

 _Anything_ would be better than the fun house, Yukhei can personally attest. The attendant at the front looked absolutely miserable when they were there earlier, and he is incapable of imagining this boy in that place instead. “Yeah, I bet. So you were here last year too? But you didn’t have this spot...what changed?”

“Well, Jaemin worked this assignment last year, but now he’s banned ever since he snuck a bath bomb in his pocket. Yeah, apparently the fair organizers didn’t appreciate him turning the entire tank sex-bomb-pink on the last day.”

Yukhei has no idea who Jaemin is, but he laughs anyway, imagining pink foam fizzing in the water, bubbling out from the cracks and making the entire surrounding area a deliciously scented mess. 

“But you’re above that kind of thing?” he asks, daring to step up beside the tank, crossing his arms over the edge and propping his chin on them. Yes...that’s what he wanted—eyes of melted brown, glow-y and warm, focusing on Yukhei and dragging over his arms, trying for subtlety but Yukhei knows what he’s got to show off, and tenses the muscles leading up to his wrists. 

The eyes flit back to his face.

“Of course. Jaemin’s got flair, I’ll give him that, but the key here is subtlety. I’d never waste a lush bomb on this grimy-ass hose water. A bit of essential oil, though...I mean. If I’m gonna sit out here and drop in this tank all day for a week, I might as well try and counteract some of the sun damage.” 

Yukhei can’t imagine looking at the boy’s skin and calling it damaged. Glowing, is the word he’d use. Radiant with warmth, caramel melted and gleaming. Sun damaged? No, sun- _kissed_ , sun...made out with, sun-frenched and hickey-ed. Ah dammit, suddenly he’s staring at the boy’s lips and he can’t look away, not with those sunset rays back-lighting him and the gentle sounds of the water rising up from below and—

“Hey, you gonna throw or what?”

Yukhei jolts back from the tank, and scrambles to capture the ball that slips from his fingers as he’s startled by a sudden new player stepping up to the game. 

“Y-yeah, sorry, I’ll just,” he lines up, hyper-conscious of the giggling from the tank, and underhands a toss in the general direction of the target. It’s lame, even for an intentionally bad throw.

“Well, the throwing did _not_ improve with the talking,” jokes the volunteer. 

Yukhei grabs the last ball and blushes. He can’t help it. “Shut it, you have no idea.” 

“Then show me something good, big guy.”

He loses a bit of control with the shudder than runs down his spine at the nickname, and the ball goes flying above the target and the clown’s head, disappearing behind the entire game. “Oh fuck,” Yukhei breathes, “I’ll just, I’ll go find that, I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back, sorry!”

With a loud sigh, the boy rolls his eyes, and Yukhei hustles to the other side of the game. While he searches, he hears the telltale sound of the plank releasing and a splash of water. When he finally spots the purple ball resting inside a loop of hose and returns with it, the other player is putting her tickets in the bucket and walking away.

The boy drips, soaking wet, as he climbs the tiny ladder next to the plank and resumes his post, unaware of Yukhei watching the water run down his legs from his pineapple-printed trunks and his dark green tank sticking to his torso. Once he’s seated again, he shakes his head at Yukhei, droplets flying every direction.

“Too bad, big guy. She got me before you did.” 

“I have more tickets, though,” Yukhei says immediately, pulling out another three from his pocket. 

A look of surprise crosses the boy’s face. “You want another go?”

“Oh, I’m determined. One way or another, I’m getting you wet.” Yukhei smirks, then cringes, freezes. “Wait.” 

The soupy warm air fills with the boy’s laughter and his eyes bow delightfully as he lets it out. Yukhei takes a moment to appreciate, then decides he can give him a little something to worry about, just to keep things interesting. He eyes the target briefly, then throws a respectable pitch that whacks right next to it, missing by barely an inch. 

“Oh, shit, that was close!” he looks at the target, then Yukhei, swallowing his remaining laughter. “Go again, maybe this is it!”

It’s not. Yukhei knew it wouldn’t be, but the way the suspense turns to blank lack of surprise is still amusing.

“Guess not. Maybe if you try and get a better arc, like over-hand it?”

Yukhei pretends a sigh and leans against the tank. “That sounds technical. You studying physics or something? A dynamics expert in the making?”

“Oh, definitely not. Socio-economics, but potentially regretting the choice. We’ll see how next semester goes, if I can graduate at mid-year or not. Are you in school?” He tilts his head a little, looking down at Yukhei with wet bangs as he twists his shirt, wringing some of the water out of it. It’s still plenty hot outside, but it’s balmy too and with the sun nearly set and the overhead lights blinking on, he’s less likely to dry quickly.

But this is a question that’s hard for Yukhei to dodge, not without giving himself away. Already graduated, somewhat early due to front-loading his credits in order to get on the field faster, he does have a degree but it’s nothing to brag about. “Sports management,” he says vaguely, letting him think what he will, “but that’s clearly doing me no good at all right now.”

“Not gonna lie, I’m not usually rooting for people to win this game. But you, big guy, are a special case.”

Yukhei holds his gaze for a moment. He could do it. He could hit the target right now, nice and solid, and prove to this boy that he’s not incompetent at basic sports, and get sent on his way, the game over. But it just doesn’t feel like the last inning, and Yukhei isn’t done looking into the honey eyes, hearing the teasing words even if it’s because he keeps failing. 

He at least does his best to make it look like he’s really trying, even though his final throw misses just like the rest.

“How can you be this bad at throwing? I’m serious, I’ve legitimately never had anyone play this game more than three times without hitting the target. Like it’s worrying, man. Can you see ok? Have you tried contact lenses?” 

Yukhei scoops up the balls and deposits them back in the bucket, shrugging as the boy worries at him. What’s he supposed to say? ‘I’m actually a nearly world class pitcher but currently I’m trying to drag out every second of time in your presence because you kinda make my heart go thump-thump-thump like a horny teenager so I’ve been lying this entire time’? He does not feel like that will be very cool and alluring. 

“Don’t know what to tell you,” he says instead, cause he doesn’t, “guess I’m just unlucky.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what it is.”

Turning, Yukhei is surprised to see the ticket clerk appear from the other side of the tank, looking casual but somehow subtly threatening. He knows who Yukhei is, and Yukhei tenses at the thought. 

The dunk tank boy gasps, sarcasm evident, and places a hand over his heart. “Renjun, here, visiting me? To what do I owe the honor? Sales too slow?”

“Closing up shop—day’s over y’know? Figured I’d get a little free entertainment and...oh look, I found some!” he gestures widely, indicating both the boy and Yukhei, but fixing his eyes on the boy in the tank. 

“Haha.” 

“Uh, ok?” Yukhei says, looking between the two fair volunteers currently holding a staring contest. 

“Don’t pay attention to Renjun. He’s just got his panties twisted cause he forgot I've got the last shift and not Jen—“

The boy in the tank doesn’t get to finish before he’s dropping into the water, the tiny ticket clerk having stalked over to the target and punched it hard right in the bullseye. He glares hard at the water until the boy surfaces. 

“For your information, Donghyuck, I _do_ know this is your shift and I came on purpose out of morbid curiosity to see how your latest trainwreck is going.” 

“So that’s his name…” Yukhei mumbles quietly, trying to keep up with this weird conversation while simultaneously experiencing the extreme joy of this revelation.

 _Donghyuck._ Amazingly, Yukhei realizes he’s not managed to get the boy’s name until this exact moment. He’s pretty sure this cashier guy, Renjun, wants him dead, or something, for a reason he can’t grasp but he’s thankful regardless that he showed up and delivered this stunningly important information. 

Donghyuck doesn’t make an effort to climb out of the water, but swims to the edge instead. “Well, thanks for dropping by, except not. Please piss off.”

“Fine, I’ll go. Let you keep enjoying the show this one’s putting on.”

Yukhei tenses, but Donghyuck’s doesn’t seem to question the statement, too busy shooing the other away.

“Okay! Love you, get out, bye!” 

Renjun flips him the bird as he leaves, leveling a pointed look at Yukhei that feels more like a threat than most actual threats Yukhei has been on the receiving end of. 

“That’s your...friend?” Yukhei asks, tentatively, when he’s out of hearing range.

Climbing out of the water yet again, Donghyuck sighs. “Yeah. He was totally lying too. He definitely forgot Jeno’s shift ended like two hours ago. This isn’t the first time he’s come over here to flirt and been grumpy that he got the timing wrong.” He pouts, which is casually devastating in a way Yukhei could never have prepared for. “But he could at least be happy to see me. Friends are terrible I guess.”

“Haha, I guess so,” Yukhei says, still fixated on the pout, until he gets sudden realization that hits like a punch to the gut. “Oh _shit, oh fuck._ I gotta go. I’m dead. Fuck fuck. I have to go _now.”_

Donghyuck raises his brows, the last thing Yukhei sees before he starts sprinting away. “Um, okay, bye?”

“Bye! I’ll be back! Promise!” Yukhei shouts over his shoulder and means it, assuming Mark doesn’t slaughter him in cold blood for disappearing for literal hours. 

As he bolts back to the bench where they separated ages ago, Yukhei tries not to panic too much. Angry Mark is _not_ a fun person. Angry Mark is pissy, snappish, and cold, and Yukhei is a simple, soft-hearted guy who doesn’t like being yelled at. It _sucks._

He skids to a halt. Mark is sitting on the bench, and he looks far too calm.

“H-hey. Been here...been here long? Haha,” Yukhei asks timidly, gulping to catch his breath. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh. Haha. Why didn’t you, like, text me?” He realizes this is the wrong question, as it shifts the blame onto Mark, a second too late and holds his breath.

Mark nods slowly. “I did. But you didn’t answer, and then I called, which you couldn’t answer, because then I found this…” He pulls a phone from one pocket, and Yukhei recognizes it as his own. A quick pat of his pockets confirms that he did in fact leave it sitting on the bench for the past few hours. 

“Ah. That would...not help.”

“I almost left you here.”

Yukhei quirks an eyebrow. “I drove though?”

Mark pulls his keys out next, and Yukhei curses. 

It’s not a very fun ride home.

[admit one]

Wednesday.

There aren’t many times Yukhei can recall where he’s woken up in the morning on a game day and not been excited to get out and pitch. The worst he can remember are the couple of times he went to sleep drunk and woke to a raging headache and a screaming alarm, dragging himself out of bed while promising himself never again. He mostly listened to himself on that one. The other time he remembers being truly hesitant rather than excited, was on the morning of his first game after finishing recovery and PT when he’d broken his wrist. Even with the all-clear from his physical therapist, he still felt anxious until he’d thrown the first ball and felt comfortable. 

So he’s surprised at himself, a little scared even, when he wakes up to the sun streaming in his window, glittering and glinting off his shelves of trophies, and instead of thinking it’s good weather for a winning game, he first thinks of smooth glowing skin and how he won’t be able to see the boy who owns it today.

 _Maybe it’s for the best_ . He thinks while aggressively pushing his toothbrush around his mouth. _The season is only just kicking into full-swing, I don’t have time to get distracted._

Before the day is half-way through, Yukhei realizes it’s too late. He does a double-take, staring out of the coach bus window at the green dunk tank they pass—except of _course_ it isn’t one, it’s just a green car, because why would a dunk tank be on the highway? That’s crazy, and Yukhei shakes his head to clear it. He needs his head _in the game,_ not buzzed warm out at some town fair, melting under the sweet eyes and teasing jabs of a boy named Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck. As they warm up on the opposing team’s field, Yukhei turns the name over and over in his head. He likes it, likes the sound of it. It’s bright, bouncy but definite—a confident name for a confident seeming person. He wants to know what it’s like to say it and have that boy respond. 

“Thirsty?”

A small, tanned hand offers Yukhei a bottle of water.

_What’s he—?!_

“D—” Yukhei’s eyes shoot up, his body straightening from the bent position of his leg stretches, and then he halts mid-word.

“D—what? Dejun? That’s my name, some reason you’re surprised to see me?” the Bombers’ shortstop asks, raising one intimidating eyebrow at Yukhei. 

Taking the bottle, Yukhei laughs sheepishly. He’s always been a little afraid of Dejun, enough to swallow any joke he’d like to make about the coincidental nature of the boy’s height with the position he holds on the team. He knows Dejun is perfectly nice, but he just looks so...hawkish. “Sorry,” Yukhei says, “just the heat getting to me, I think.” 

Dejun tsks. “As long as it doesn’t get to your throwing game. Make sure you drink a few of those.” 

Either his words are a jinx, or Yukhei doesn’t drink quite enough water throughout the game, because it’s definitely not his best. They don’t lose—the rest of the team is too good for that, thank God—but more than once he goes to wind up and suddenly pictures a cartoon clown where Mark should be. After nine innings he walks off the field with a raised average on pitches called outside the strike zone, and more than one annoyed glare from his teammates. 

Johnny lays a heavy hand on his shoulder as Yukhei sits down in the locker room. “I don’t know what that was about, but that was way too many of the kind of calls I don’t like to hear,” the pitching coach says, his voice firm. “You need to reign in your balls.” 

Nodding solemnly, Yukhei keeps his eyes trained on the shiny orange paint of the metal locker door. 

Johnny doesn’t know just how right he is.

[admit one]

Thursday. 

All reasonable logic points to aiming anywhere but the dusty, humid fairgrounds for the remainder of the week that the event is being held. If two days of getting unexpectedly drunk on an unanticipated crush are enough to throw off Yukhei’s pitching game that badly, then clearly he shouldn’t go back, not when he has two more games this week.

Yukhei’s logic goes a little something different than that, though. 

“Hey, what’s that phrase for when you go back and drink the same alcohol the next day to avoid getting a hangover?” he asks Mark the next morning over their coffee, keeping his eyes carefully hidden behind his darkest sunglasses so the acute morning sunlight can’t slice into his corneas. 

Mark leans into the back of the black metal patio chair outside the cafe on their block, the one just down from their shared apartment building where they often meet up. He thinks for a second while he chews his bagel, then points a finger at Yukhei as he answers, “Hair of the dog.”

“That’s it, yeah.” Yukhei snaps his fingers. “Kind of like playing a song again to get it out of your head.”

“I guess that’s a similar idea.”

“Yeah, basically exactly the same thing. Anyway, completely unrelated, but you up for the fair again today? I think I’m gonna get my face painted.”

Surprisingly, Mark doesn’t even roll his eyes, but readily agrees. 

Thursday seems to be a slower day for the fair, with a much shorter line at the gates to purchase ride and game tickets. Yukhei hardly has the time to pull his wallet out before they’re faced with Renjun once again, the oddly prickly cashier narrowing his eyes at them both as they approach.

“Again?” he says, looking down his thin nose at Yukhei despite sitting about three feet below him in the booth. 

Mark shoots Yukhei a puzzled look, but attempts a smile. “Yeah, I mean, aren’t repeat customers kind of a good thing?”

“Not you two, you’re trouble.”

“Well that seems unfounded,” grumbles Yukhei, scuffing his sneaker against the concrete. He hasn’t done anything worth the suspicion that he’s aware of...yet.

“I have very good instincts. And my instincts are telling me not to trust two jocks hanging around carnival games all day.” Renjun folds his hands over the roll of tickets, making it seem as though he intends not to sell them to Mark and Yukhei at all. “Besides, a little birdie told me you guys didn’t play so hot yesterday. Shouldn’t you be practicing your sports so you don’t lose your touch?”

“What little birdie?”

“Twitter. The internet bird. I know everything.”

The relief of it not being Donghyuck who informed Renjun of their game gets quickly supplanted by a much greater fear of Renjun’s statement being true. While Yukhei is a drama-free player on the whole, he’s well aware the internet holds the history of all his worst and most embarrassing moments, on and off the mound. Renjun seems like the last person he’d want in possession of that information. 

“Man, can you just give us tickets already?” Mark interjects, his tone annoyed. “I don’t think you’re allowed to discriminate customers.” 

There’s clear reluctance in the slowness with which Renjun counts out tickets for them both and slides them across the counter. “I could tell the fair manager that you’re delinquents…” he warns, “but I won’t. Just know I have my eyes on you.” 

“Alright well, we’re gonna go have some good, clean, old-fashioned fun like upstanding, moral citizens.” Yukhei laughs nervously and claps Mark on the back, giving Renjun his winningest smile as they pay and head through the gates. It does nothing to change the cashier’s furrowed expression of suspicion, but he tries his best anyway.

Mark huffs. “What’s with that guy threatening us?”

Yukhei thinks back to Renjun at the dunk tank, bantering with Donghyuck sarcastically and shooting glares at Yukhei, and the strong over-protective friend vibes it left him with. 

“I think he’s one of those naturally suspicious kinds, you know? Like the ones who are usually conspiracy theorists that, like, believe Elvis is still alive and just got abducted by aliens, and always put tape over their laptop camera. I doubt we have anything to worry about.” 

Mark nods with a concurring “ahh,” and they agree to visit the face-painting station. 

Today, Yukhei has a real game plan. The face-painting lies just beyond the row of booths where the dunk tank sits, so as they pass he’s able to confirm his theory: the other volunteer, who based on Donghyuck’s inference he believes is named Jeno, sits on the plank. If Yukhei has it figured out, his shift in their rotation should last maybe an hour more. If they trade off the way he thinks, Yukhei ought to be able to play the game every few hours, the long string of tickets in his pocket ready to be spent for a few minutes of blissful conversation with the prettiest boy in the world. 

All he has to do is keep Mark distracted at those points.

A cat-eyed girl with an artfully decorated nametag proclaiming “Yeeun” sits them both down on the seat at the face-paint station in turn, and for a brief time Yukhei actually feels like he’s reliving a moment from his childhood as her tiny brush glides over his cheek. 

“Can you do another?” The drying paint on his skin feels a little prickly and tight, but Yukhei’s inner child can’t resist. “On the other side.”

Yeeun grips her brush like a long-stemmed cigarette holder. “Sure, what d’ya want?”

“Rainbow.”

Mark laughs. “A sunflower and a rainbow? Are you ten?” 

“Says the guy who got a watermelon. For your information, I’m _twelve,_ and enjoying life to the fullest including face-paint. You’re just mad you didn’t get two.” 

The brush moves in little circles on his cheek and Yukhei assumes Yeeun has put puffy clouds under his rainbow. With another blot of paint, she sets the brush down. “Done. Your mom is gonna think you’re so cute, she’ll post your face all over sns,” she teases.

Yukhei can’t help blushing a little. Now that he thinks of it, it would be nice if _someone_ thought he looked cute…

“Hey,” Mark interrupts, “I want a second one too.” He hauls Yukhei out of the seat and plops back down, patting his empty cheek. 

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. A heart. Pink.”

A laugh bursts out from Yukhei. “Is this a competition now? Are you trying to be cuter than me?” 

“I won that competition ages ago.”

With faces decorated in bright colors, they wander slowly around the grounds for a while, grabbing icees from a stand and playing random games while Yukhei keeps an eye on the time passing. As they stumble breathless off the swinging pirate ship ride, he decides it should be time to make his first escape. Luckily, Mark makes it easy for him. 

Pushing a hand through his hair and resettling his cap, Mark sighs loudly. “Bathroom break,” he announces. “Where were they again?”

“Back by the front gate,” Yukhei says, thinking of the farthest ones he can remember. There’s probably some closer. 

“Shit, seriously? Man, okay. You gonna go?”

“Nah, I’m good.” 

With a promise to back soon, Mark jogs off, and Yukhei waits till he’s just out of sight to practically run over to the dunk tank. He slows down close by, validated to see Donghyuck there and already laughing loudly as someone’s toss misses spectacularly. Joining the line, Yukhei readies his three tickets and impatiently watches the players ahead of him go. Donghyuck gets dunked twice, but right before the first time he looks up and catches Yukhei’s eye, and maybe he’s just too hopeful but Yukhei almost thinks he smiles just to see him. 

“You’re back! I missed you yesterday.” 

When it’s finally Yukhei’s turn, he has pause and collect himself at Donghyuck’s bright greeting. “You...did?” 

“Well yeah, you know most people don’t spend a lot of time chatting with me? You kinda stand out. Besides I need every customer I can get it I’m gonna beat Jaemin’s ticket sales record and prove I’m more popular than him.” He smirks and winks, and Yukhei wonders how any person Donghyuck actually liked would manage to stay alive. If he’s this fun and adorable when he’s just being polite, he can’t imagine what his flirting would be like. 

“So you stopped by Yeeun’s booth huh?”

Raising a hand to his face, Yukhei just barely stops himself from touching the delicate paint on his cheek. “Oh, yeah, we did. I almost forgot about it, that makes sense of why all those people kept staring at my face earlier.”

“I think they’ve got more than one reason.”

 _Shit._ Because he’s semi-famous? Yukhei feels his sweat start to turn cold. But Donghyuck doesn’t look mad, which is what he’d expect, so he tries to just brush it off. “Oh um, maybe.” 

Donghyuck’s smile falters. “I didn’t mean—not like, just. The paint looks good. I like the flower.”

“Thanks. I should play though, right?”

The dunk tank volunteer nods, his fingers gripping the seat he’s perched on.

Unfortunately, Yukhei knows he hasn’t got much time this round. If anything Mark should have been back already. He makes two half-hearted throw attempts, basking in Donghyuck’s exasperated reactions and peppering in questions to get to keep talking, anything he can think of.

“—’cause the flying swings are fun, sure, but the ferris wheel is a classic,” Donghyuck finishes talking about his favorite rides as Yukhei considers his last throw. Luckily there’s just one person in line, and they’re so busy texting he doesn’t think they’re even paying attention. 

He sighs. “I love ferris wheels. But Mark’s afraid of them, so I guess we’re not gonna ride it.” He shrugs, then glances around for his friend. He’d really better go find him. Or maybe not, as he suddenly spots the cherry-red of Mark’s cap approaching. 

“Who’s—”

Yukhei tosses the last ball aimlessly. “Just remembered, I was s’posed to meet back up with him. I’ll swing by again later, yeah?” He looks back up at Donghyuck, whose expression looks unexpectedly put out. 

“Cool, if you want to.”

He sprints away with a wave, cutting off Mark just before he can get close enough to be in speaking distance of Donghyuck. “Hey! There you are!”

“There I am? There _you_ are. Where the hell have you been?”

“Are you joking?” Yukhei redirects, “I was circling the place looking for you. You get lost on your way back?”

Mark’s brow furrows, perplexed. “No, I...I didn’t...I definitely came right back this way, right after…”

Actually, if Yukhei thinks about it, that doesn’t really make sense, or he would have seen Mark much earlier. He wonders if he really _did_ get lost. “Whatever, they have spinning tea cups here, let’s ride those!” 

“Do you want to be sick?” Mark asks, but lets Yukhei push him the other direction toward the ride. 

“No, I want to see _you_ get sick, like a wimp...hey, how’d you smudge your watermelon already? That girl’s gonna be pissed if she sees you.” 

“What?!” Mark gently pads at his cheek as they walk. “You’ve gotta be kidding. Can’t believe he fucked it up—”

“Who?”

Mark goes slightly red. “N-no one! just...bumped into this guy earlier on accident, must have been then.”

“With your face? You ran into someone with your face?”

“I wasn’t watching where I was going, okay?” Mark grumbles, which does sound like him. Yukhei knows he can get distracted like that pretty easily, and by the way he’s red he’s obviously embarrassed about being so clumsy.

Seemingly bent on proving himself, Mark turns the teacup as fast as it can possibly go, making Yukhei’s head feel like it’s about to twist right off his neck, and then makes them ride it again to the same end. Mark doesn’t get sick, but he does look a little wobbly when they leave to find the bumper cars. It’s been a while since they could really let loose and just hangout, and Yukhei finds himself reminded of why they’re best friends more than just teammates—for all the relentless teasing, they get along really well, and Yukhei hardly notices the time passing until they’re done two rounds of bumper cars, won glow stick necklaces at the bean bag toss, and cringed over a goofy magic show. 

“Not the best illusionist I’ve ever seen,” Mark comments. “Some of his tricks were so obvious.”

Yukhei can’t relate. He has no idea how any of those tricks were done. “Yeah,” he agrees anyway, “a total hack. Sawing a girl in half?” He internally shudders. “Uninspired.” 

“Haha, right?” Mark stretches his arms out, glancing around the grounds as the sun sits lazily in the afternoon sky. “Man, I’m thirsty. Gonna get a drink.” 

_Oh my god,_ Yukhei suddenly remembers, _the plan! What time is it??_ If his phone is right, he may have missed Donghyuck’s entire shift. _Dammit._

“I’m gonna go uh, take a shit, actually,” he blurts out, but honestly he really does need to pee first. 

Mark laughs. “Wow, okay man. I won’t wait up for you, then. Just find me when you’re good.” 

“For sure, feels like it might take a while.”

“Shut the fuck up and go!” Mark laughs again, shoving Yukhei away, and Yukhei bolts like his ass really is on fire. He makes a lightning fast pitstop to actually pee, then dodges through foot traffic to reach the dunk tank, skidding to a stop not far from the cotton candy stand. As he catches his breath, he watches Jeno climbing up the ladder to sit down above the water.

_Fuck._

“What a shame, you just missed him.” 

Yukhei turns to the stand with a grimace, nonplussed. “Thanks, Jisung, I can see that.” 

The candy seller clicks his tongue. “Huge bummer, lover boy. After all the time you’ve put into visiting? All for nothing…”

“Have you been...are you watching me?!”

“You would be surprised how little entertainment I get during the day.” 

It’s a blunt admission, but Yukhei’s not surprised with how dry Jisung seems to be, nor can he really blame him. It does seem like a boring job. He almost pities him.

“Hey, Jisung, stop being rude to the customers,” scolds a warm voice. Donghyuck, live and outside the confines of his game.

_He’s so…small._

Yukhei tries not to make any weird noises. “H-hi,” he stutters out instead.

“Come on,” Donghyuck instructs, “keep me company while I get food on my break.”

Jisung raises his eyebrows suggestively at Yukhei as Donghyuck leads the way, and Yukhei just follows in stunned speechlessness. Donghyuck wants his company? They’ve barely interacted at all over the past couple of day, in Yukhei’s estimation; he could never have anticipated this opportunity happening, when he doesn’t even have to fake sucking at pitching to get to be around the glowing boy. 

“So who’s Mark?” Donghyuck asks suddenly, jolting Yukhei out of his thoughts.

He jogs a step to catch up beside him. “Mark? He’s my best friend and—” _teammate._ Except he can’t say that, unless he wants now to be when he admits he’s been fooling Donghyuck til this point.

“And?”

“And nothing. That’s it.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“Why?”

Donghyuck shoots a sideways glance at him, staying fairly close as they navigate the other fair-goers. “Just wondering,” he replies lightly, “since it seemed like you were here alone. Didn’t realize you were with someone.” 

“Well, we’re pretty independent people,” explains Yukhei, because he’s always liked that they are friends who don’t have to spend every second together, especially when so much of their lives overlap. “We each kind of do our own thing.”

A handful of middle school kids runs past them and Donghyuck shifts a step closer to avoid their path. “That’s cool,” he says, and the back of his hand brushes Yukhei’s for just a second, “Jaemin’s kind of like that too. Honestly sometimes I don’t have a clue what he’s up to. It’s worrying. At least Jeno and Renjun are reliable, even if their endless mutual pining is getting a little old.”

“Oh?”

Donghyuck dives into the story of his friends as they walk, spilling all the details of Renjun’s misguided attempts at flirting that tend to come off as nagging, and Jeno’s inability to just tell him he’s basically in love with him even though he’s plenty willing to cling all over the smaller boy and constantly seek his attention. Yukhei stores the information away for later; next time Renjun tries to threaten him, he’ll be ready.

“Anyway, I still love them,” says Donghyuck as they come up to a concession stand that seems to be unmanned. “Even if they can’t get their shit together. Now, where’s Jaemin. Jaemin!” He shouts.

There’s a funny shuffling sound and a blonde boy with a shockingly wide smile and a dab of pink next to his lip pops up from behind the counter. He’s surrounded by various candies, potato chip flavors, odd fair foods, and even a bowl of whole fruits, but he still immediately comes across as the most interesting thing in the space.

“Hyuckie! Break already? That was fast,” he laughs, wiping a hand over the side of his face. “Oh. You have a friend...hello.” The way he says it, Yukhei thinks the guy could make just about any word sound suggestive.

“Were you seriously taking a nap just now?” 

Jaemin shakes his head insistently, his face colored with apparent embarrassment at being caught. “Complete honesty, I was not.” He suddenly winces. “Or maybe I _was.”_

“You’re so fucking weird,” sighs Donghyuck, and he leans heavily over the counter to stare up at the board listing all the available foods. Jaemin reaches out and pushes him back so he’s not quite so far into the stand. “What is up with you?!”

“It’s unsanitary to be all up in my stand like that,” Jaemin replies, scratching his messy hair and then splaying the same hand down on the exact same spot of counter. 

Donghyuck looks at Yukhei, rolling his eyes as if to say, _see what I put up with?_ Then he huffs. “Okay, well, I’m hungry.”

“I’m sure you are, babe, splashing around all day.”

“Stop. What do I want...hotdog...no...nachos?...no...give me a hot pretzel and a sprite.”

Jaemin shoots him finger guns and starts pulling the order together. “What about you? You want anything?” he asks as he waits for the soda cup to fill, blinking up at Yukhei. “I can recommend the nachos.” 

He’s never really liked the consistency of the cheese, though, so Yukhei shakes his head. “Pretzel too.” 

“What the tall hottie asks for, he gets,” Jaemin replies with a wink, setting Donghyuck’s full drink aside, and then stumbles slightly as he reaches into the warmer for the pretzels. “Ow, okay, what the perfectly average man asks for, then. Fuck.” 

“Jaemin for real, are you ok?” Donghyuck questions, leaning into the stand again with concern. Yukhei has to agree; he’s more than normal levels of weird, even if he’s pretty. 

Jaemin pushes Donghyuck out for a second time. “I’m all good, promise. You paying or am I spotting again today?”

“I’m paying,” Yukhei jumps in, already fishing his wallet out. 

Donghyuck turns in surprise. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“...paying?”

“I don’t let strangers just pay for my food.” 

This shocks Yukhei. Are they strangers at this point? He supposes he still hasn’t actually called the boy by his name, but they’re acquaintances at the very least, right? “I’m not?...sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” he stumbles over the apology, “but you were just in the water? I have money…”

Donghyuck, unexpectedly, giggles. “Relax, big guy. How about this: tell me your name, and you can pay.”

_Oh shit. He never told him his fucking name??_

“Yukhei! I’m Yukhei, shit, sorry!”

“Nice to meet you, officially,” Donghyuck smiles, sun-kissed cheeks apple-ing. “I’m Donghyuck. Now you can pay.”

Jaemin reaches across and plucks the bills from Yukhei’s frozen hand. “Y’all are dumb together huh? That’s adorable.” He smiles while he punches things into the register, then hands Yukhei back a pathetic amount of change. A quick glance as he replaces it in his wallet, and Yukhei wonders where all his cash went. How did he get so low?

They take the food from Jaemin, ignoring his further teasing, and find a picnic table nearby that isn’t covered in ketchup. Though not quite sunset yet, the sun’s rays through the muggy air highlight Donghyuck once again as he sits down across from Yukhei, and the pretzel slowly grows cold in his hand as Yukhei gets caught up admiring again. Donghyuck has freckles, he learns. Or no, they’re not quite...they must be moles or something, little brown dots that sit pretty on his skin in random placement. He’s never found a simple skin anomaly so cute before.

“Yukhei?”

His name sounds like _that?_ Yukhei tries to remember anyone ever saying it before. He’s sure that it has never sounded so sweet in his life. 

“Yeah?”

Donghyuck takes a sip of his drink, smacking his lips, and says, “Just tell me if I have salt on my face okay? You’re staring. Also, aren’t you gonna eat?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, there’s...no, you’re fine, there’s nothing...Donghyuck.” It’s as hot as it’s been all week, that much hasn’t changed, but Yukhei flushes hot still at using his name. He bites into the pretzel, the heavy salt stinging on his tongue, and realizes that his plan to get less drunk is backfiring spectacularly. If anything, he’s even more wasted than the day before, watching Donghyuck tear off pieces of bread and pop them between his plush lips. He’s played the song too many times now; it’s not out of his head, but engraved on his brain, his ears ringing with it. It’s a full blown crush, or maybe infatuation. Whatever it is, Yukhei’s fucked, and there’s no way around it. 

Pretzel now gone, Donghyuck licks his fingertips and sighs. “God, I was so hungry. I don’t even hardly do anything all day, but being bored makes me starved, y’know?”

Yukhei nods. He’s never really bored—his schedule doesn’t typically leave room for it, and when it does he fills the space immediately—but he can imagine. That, and he gets hungry from doing next to nothing. “Someone should bring you snacks.”

“You offering?” Donghyuck grins at him, resting his chin in his hands sweetly. 

“Um, sure?”

“I’m kidding, you don’t have to do that.” He laughs. “You’re too nice. It makes things interesting enough that you keep coming around all the time already. Even though you have the worst aim.”

Ugh, the reminder stings. Yukhei just hopes he’s not the type to randomly google people they meet. “Well, that I can definitely do,” he replies, being at least that honest, “your game is fun.” _If only because of you…_

“Well, thanks. I try. Listen,” Donghyuck leans a little closer over the table, prompting Yukhei to lean in, too. It makes his heart stutter. “I got some shit to do before my next shift, but I’ll be back up there around seven for the last few hours if you wanna come try again. I know it’s pointless, but to ease my boredom.” 

Yukhei should really find Mark yet again, anyway. It’s nice not to have to stalk the tank and guess when Donghyuck will be there again, though. 

“Sure, I’ll drop by.”

Donghyuck smiles, small and soft, and shocks Yukhei by bending a hand over and gently patting his cheek. “Peachy. I really do like the flower.” He taps his thumb against it, then draws away and stands up, taking his drink with him and capturing the straw between his lips. 

Yukhei just stares, frozen, as Donghyuck is the one to wave and walk away this time. 

He doesn’t waste time wandering around looking for Mark at this point, simply calling him instead. They agree to meet up by the small stage area and watch the acrobatic and trapeze show scheduled for that evening. Yukhei grabs seats on the stands set up around it, and a few minutes later Mark climbs up and sinks down next to him.

“'S'up?”

Mark crunches through a bite of the apple in his hand and shrugs. “Not much. You good?”

Yukhei nods. “Yeah...thought you were getting a drink?”

“Did that.” 

“Are _you_ good? You look kinda…” he’s not sure what it is. Just...less composed? Mark’s dark hair is kinda all over the place, and he looks...different. Is it his mouth? Yukhei isn’t sure he knows what Mark’s mouth normally looks like. But he looks weird. Now _both_ of his cheeks are smudged.

Mark coughs, thumping his chest as he chews. “I’m good. Bobbed for apples.” He raises the fruit to further indicate.

Music starts up in front of them and performers start to gather on the stage, so Yukhei lets it drop. “Didn’t realize they had that here. You win?”

“Yeah. Hence the apple.” 

The show is surprisingly good, and shockingly dangerous enough that Yukhei grabs onto Mark’s arm a few times, fearing for a performer’s life. And the show is long, rotating through acts from hoop-twirling to balancing, until the sunk has low enough that the sky dims and a fire breather lights up the stage. After a big finale, the whole small crowd applauds, and Yukhei realizes he’s _actually_ hungry, like he hasn’t had a normal meal since breakfast. He heads back toward the concessions stand automatically, Mark following, wondering if Jaemin will give him shit for not getting more food earlier. 

“Where’re we going?” Mark asks.

“M’hungry,” Yukhei complains, “keep forgetting to eat. There’s concessions over here.” 

As they pass the growing lines for a few rides, Mark grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Wait.”

“Why?”

Mark licks his lip, hesitant. “I gotta…talk to you.” 

“And? Talk to me while I eat.” 

“No man, it’s serious.” 

Yukhei tries to pull his arm back, forgetting how tight a grip Mark can have when it hardly budges. “Right, so I’ll take it seriously over a burger.”

Instead, Mark begins dragging him another direction, seemingly randomly picking a line and shoving them in it. “No, right now.”

“Was that apple poisoned? Why are you being a dick?” 

“Have you been ditching me on purpose?”

“What?”

Mark stares him down. “There’s someone here you’re interested in, isn’t there.” 

Yukhei swallows dryly. There’s no getting around it now. If Mark wants to make fun of him for it, that’s just gonna be that. He’s too invested now to care if Mark teases him relentlessly over a crush. 

He exhales, defeated, dropping his chin. “Yeah.”

“I knew it. You always sound the same when you’re lovestruck, I totally heard it in your voice earlier, man I _knew it!”_

“Wait, when did you hear—”

“So who is it? Where’s he at in this place? Wait, don’t tell me, the one from the dunk tank right? The one whose brother is a Bombers’ fan?” 

So close, but it’s not Jeno. As cute as he is, Yukhei’s wasted for anyone but the god of the sun that works the other shift. “No, not him, the other dunk tank volunteer.” They move forward in the line as Yukhei admits it, just a couple people from the front. “Donghyuck works the shift after him.” 

At least Mark doesn’t look mad at being ditched. Instead, he seems delighted, laughing and smacking Yukhei’s arm repeatedly till it’s painful. “I knew you were up to something! Donghyuck, huh? You guys gonna go out?”

“Next riders, please,” a voice interrupts them, and Mark looks confused.

He glances around like he didn’t realize where he dragged them, and then Yukhei watches in satisfaction as Mark sees how close they are to stepping into a carriage on the ferris wheel. “Oh. Um, no thanks,” he tries, but Yukhei’s faster, shoving him forward. Payback.

“Thanks, we’ll get right on,” he says, and shuts the door before Mark can scramble back out. The carriage moves and Mark slides to the center of the seat, gripping the edge and glaring at Yukhei.

“Not cool, man,” he growls.

“You’ll survive.”

For a minute Mark just watches their slow ascension nervously, wincing anytime the carriage shakes the slightest bit, then takes a deep breath and focuses on Yukhei again. “So anyway,” he says, voice tense, “are you going out now?” 

“Uh, no. I’ve just kinda kept going by to play his game and chat with him?”

Mark blinks. “And?”

“And that’s it?”

“You’re kidding? _Nothing_ else has happened?”

“Not really. I mean, I bought him a snack and met his weird friend. Otherwise no.” 

The ferris wheel drags them higher, the last bits of sunlight simmering on the horizon, and it’s a lot cooler up as high as they are. He sees Mark shiver, and in the distance the city lights of downtown glimmer and twinkle, like the stars that have begun to appear much higher in the sky. It would be much nicer to be up there with Donghyuck, Yukhei thinks. 

“Well you can always ask him later, right?” continues Mark. “Text and see if he wants to come to a game or something.” 

Yukhei scratches the side of his neck. “Um, well. About that. I don’t have his number? And he uh, doesn’t know that I pitch.”

“Dude.” 

“I know _.”_ Yukhei groans, and drops his head into his hands. 

“You’re telling me you’ve been playing a game that revolves around throwing, which you’re an ace at because you play _baseball_ , and you’ve managed to hide that fact for the better part of a week?” 

“I’ve sort of been faking being bad at it.”

“ _Dude._ ”

“ _I know.”_

Mark shakes his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “Even for you, I’m surprised. You’re going to get it right, his number?”

Yukhei wants to be confident, sure, but part of him wonders if the rejection would be too much, if he’d rather leave this as some hazy, rose-tinted summer dream where he never has to take that risk, and not have to look back on it as a failure in the future. He’s used to throwing strikes, not taking them himself. He’s not sure he can handle it. 

“Maybe,” he says as the wheel descends, “can’t really tell if he wants to give it to me.”

“Because you’ve totally asked, like a normal person would.”

He returns Mark’s accusatory, knowing look with something far more sheepish. 

Mark sighs. “No, you haven’t. Unbelievable.” He tugs at his own hair like Yukhei’s troubles are personal to him.

“Weren’t you wearing a hat earlier?” Yukhei asks, suddenly noticing. He’s positive Mark had on a Bombers’ cap when they first got to the grounds, but he could be wrong.

The hand in Mark’s hair is joined by its match and he curses, starts to stand up, and sits right back down as the carriage shakes. “Shit, I must have left it at the st—the uh, the apples. The bobbing for apples.”

“Hopefully they still have it there,” Yukhei encourages him, knowing full well Mark could get like ten of the same hat if he loses it.

“Yeah. Alright, when we get off this stupid thing, I’m gonna go find my hat, and you’re gonna go get Donghyuck’s phone number. Got it?”

Yukhei’s heart starts racing at just the idea. “Wait, why’s that the plan?”

“Because I’m helping you not be an idiot when you like someone. So that’s the plan.” The carriage swings gently to a stop at the bottom, the bored-looking guy manning it holding it steady as Mark and Yukhei climb out. Mark does a sort of wobbly dance away from it, like he doesn’t trust his legs, and points Yukhei towards the dunk tank. “Go get your boy.” Then he wobbles away, and it’s not like Yukhei really has a choice.

And anyway, Yukhei did say he would visit Donghyuck again that night, so now he just has to do it while knowing Mark will be waiting for him to come back successful with a phone number. Which doesn’t add any pressure at all, or make Yukhei walk a lot slower than he would have before. When he gets close he sees how long the line is, hears Donghyuck laugh and shout jabs at the players, and just hangs back. He waits, watching the line diminish, grinning every time someone wins and Donghyuck goes tumbling. He draws closer as the line dies down, taking a seat next to the whack-a-mole that’s no longer running, and waves at Donghyuck. 

His heart does a little jump when Donghyuck sees him and waves back, beckoning him to step up and play. He does; he can’t say no. 

“Ready to give it another try, big guy?” Donghyuck goads, kicking his bare feet above the water. The sun may be gone but he still glows, his eyes just as bright as the strings of lights keeping the fairgrounds lit with the departure of the sun. 

“Sure,” Yukhei agrees, leaving his tickets without counting them, and picking up the balls once again. At this point he’s almost as practiced in missing the target as he usually is in hitting them. His first throw falls easily short. 

“Disappointed but not surprised,” says Donghyuck. 

“Hey, it’s not that easy! I’d like to see you come down from there and give it a try!”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “Children do this. I’ve been dunked by a six year old. But okay. Want to switch places?” 

Yukhei’s jaw drops. “Are you serious?” He glances around, sure there’s a fair supervisor somewhere nearby who will catch them and get Donghyuck in trouble for it, and Yukhei banned from the grounds. 

“I’m serious. Unless you’re too chicken? Afraid of getting a bit damp?”

He doesn’t have the ability to turn down a challenge like that, even if he’s wearing jeans. Yukhei starts emptying his pockets of valuables, assuring himself there’s always the chance Donghyuck won’t be successful. “Alright, come down then.”

Yukhei kicks off his shoes at the bottom of the ladder as Donghyuck climbs down, setting his affects inside them for safekeeping. Donghyuck eyes him as he takes hold of the ladder.

“That all you’re gonna take off?” 

Yukhei blushes immediately. He didn’t even think of stripping at all, even though there’s almost no one left around with how close it is to closing, but now he certainly can’t. Too dangerous. He just nods and climbs up. 

Donghyuck shrugs. “Suit yourself. I wouldn’t want wet jeans, but do you.” He lines up at the throwing line while Yukhei gets settled, tossing the ball up and catching it until Yukhei gives him a thumbs up. 

His first throw is just inches from the target. Yukhei swallows dryly, carefully holding his toes away from where they nearly touch the water. 

“Y’know, people love to use this logic on me when they miss,” Donghyuck says breezily. “Always, ‘oh, easy for you to talk when you’re never the one throwing,’ but the thing is,”—he throws again, just as close but on the opposite side, and Yukhei braces, because he realizes he’s in for it—”I come round on Jeno’s shifts all the time. And I rarely leave him hanging.” He grins at Yukhei, then turns a scary look on the target and whips the last ball right into it. 

The water does not feel nice. Maybe in the day time it’s sort of refreshing, but to Yukhei it’s lukewarm and murky, and he comes up coughing as it gets into his nose. When he finally clears his eyes, Donghyuck is there, leaning with his chin on the edge of the tank and looking smug.

“How’s that feel?”

“I’m not a fan,” Yukhei coughs again.

“Thought so. Damn, should have made a bet. Wasted potential,” Donghyuck says with a chuckle. “Alright, get out before someone sees you, big guy.” 

Dragging himself out of the water in soaking clothing is less than comfortable or desirable, but Yukhei can’t help feeling happy. The fact that Donghyuck can play the game just as well as he can talk shit from the other side of it...that’s hot. He’d be lying if the fear of getting dunked by Donghyuck didn’t excite him a little bit. 

He hops down the last few rungs of the ladder and comes face to face with Donghyuck as his clothes drip drip drip on the pavement. Yukhei keeps still, unsure how to proceed when Donghyuck’s just staring at him, arms crossed and eyes fixed somewhere below Yukhei’s neck. It hurts how much Yukhei wishes he could tell what’s running through the boy’s head. 

Donghyuck sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, letting it free with a pop. Then he kind of lists forward, making Yukhei almost think he’s falling, and just presses a hand over Yukhei’s stomach.

It’s like tornado sirens go off inside Yukhei’s head, his entire body tensing from top to toe at the touch. It lasts just half a second before Donghyuck seems to wake up and jerk backwards, pulling both arms behind his back. 

“Hah,” he breathes, “I guess you really don’t miss gym day, do you? Haha, that’s healthy.”

Well, Yukhei legitimately is required not to miss his scheduled gym time, so no, he doesn’t. But he’s not breathing quite right enough to say anything like that at the moment. He just stares like a fish while Donghyuck picks up his shoes and the rest and shoves them into his hands.

“Alrighty, well, it’s been so fun, but you have to go. I mean, I have to go. We both do, because it’s closing time, and that’s enough for one day! Definitely enough,” Donghyuck just keeps on talking, walking in fast circles around the tank and picking things up and putting them back down, and Yukhei has no idea what he’s doing until Donghyuck returns and pushes at his back away from the game. 

“Goodnight, Yukhei,” he says, voice little behind his shoulders, “see you later, I hope.” 

Yukhei nods slowly. “Yeah, uhuh.” 

It takes him a long time to get back to the gate, where Mark is waiting impatiently. He seems to have found his hat.

“Um, what the fuck happened to you?” he asks, scratching at the tiny remaining bit of paint on his cheek.

Yukhei imagines his own face paint must be a mess. “Got wet.” 

Mark sighs. “Yeah, I can see that. I hope you have a towel in the truck.” 

That’s not something Yukhei can remember, but it turns out he does not. He sits on a spare uniform instead, and it isn’t until they’re down the road that he realizes he never asked for Donghyuck’s number. 

[admit one]

Friday.

The skies open the next day, intent on releasing every last drop of accumulated water built up from a week of almost one-hundred percent humidity. It rains so hard, it wakes Yukhei up earlier than normal, and he wonders if being out in that feels anything like dropping into the dunk tank. He hopes Donghyuck isn’t working in the rain, and a quick google search tells him that the fair has put out a delayed opening notice for the day, pending the end of the storm. 

Then his phone rings. 

_“Game’s cancelled,”_ comes Mark’s scratchy voice, _“they’re not even sure they can get the field dry in time if it does stop soon. So…”_

“Yeah, I’m going back. Soon as it opens.” 

_“Thought so. I’ll pass today, gonna catch up on sleep. Don’t come back without a phone number. My best friend’s a winner.”_

Yukhei cringes. Usually, that’s pretty true. Just in this particular case…

“Yeah, ok.” 

It’s late, late afternoon by the time the fair reopens. Yukhei’s glad it’s not a far drive, because he doesn’t really want to waste time. He’s got a game to suck at and a question to ask, and he’d like to get to both pretty quickly before he loses the balls to do either. 

Naturally, Renjun is there to prevent him from getting inside with any expediency, a sour end to the excessively long line of fairgoers waiting for the place to open late. 

“Well well,” he taunts, “even the rain can’t keep you out? Not done toying with my friend?”

Yukhei frowns. “Hey, I’m not doing that.”

A scoff. “Where’s the evidence, though?”

“I don’t know, maybe ask him if I’m being annoying? Look, I get that he’s your friend, and you’re looking out for him—”

“That’s right.”

“But you can relax. I just like Donghyuck.” Yukhei says and freezes, amazed at the words coming out of his mouth. He’s never admitted it aloud before, just thought it. But yeah. He likes Donghyuck. A lot. 

Renjun doesn’t look convinced. “But what are your _intentions?”_

Nevertheless, he doesn’t owe Renjun more information than that. He appreciates the concern, but he’s not about to take an interrogation at this point. “I don’t know,” Yukhei says, “what are your intentions with Jeno?”

“What?” Renjun’s eyes go wide.

Yukhei leans on the counter, pulling out one of his last few bills, and smirks. “You heard me. Maybe we both know things. So. How about you give me some tickets, and I don’t go by on Jeno’s shift with any interesting information he may not be aware of?” 

“You _are_ a bastard,” Renjun seethes, ripping off the tickets ruthlessly and throwing them at Yukhei. 

“Let’s call it being strategic. See you around, Renjun.” 

Renjun flips him off as he leaves, seemingly a favorite action of his, and one that shocks the old couple behind him in line into insulted stuttering. The sound of it fades away as Yukhei strides toward the dunk tank, uncaring of the puddles he steps in or the low sun in his eyes. 

Apparently, the same line that he stood in for twenty minutes to get inside the grounds has transferred directly to line up to dunk Donghyuck. Yukhei’s never before seen that many people waiting to toss a ball at a target, but it’s clear he won’t be waiting for anything less than an hour if he wants to talk to him. Which...fuck. His nerves. 

Yukhei passes by the line and loiters across from the tank, hoping he can catch Donghyuck’s attention somehow. He doesn’t wait long.

“Yukhei!” 

Donghyuck waves both his arms, already wet and glinting with water droplets in the fresh sunlight escaped from the storm clouds. He smiles as Yukhei moves closer.

“Hey!”

“Hiya.” 

Donghyuck laughs, though Yukhei hasn’t said more than hello. Contrasting the awkward end to the previous night, his mood is spectacularly bright. “Look,” he bubbles, “this line is crazy fucking long—sorry ma’am, I’m sorry, I won’t swear again—so how about waiting a bit and coming back later? I really gotta let these people play out so I won’t be able to chat really.” 

“Sure, that’s cool,” agrees Yukhei, and glances around. What else he could do…

Donghyuck points down the end of the row. “If you want, they’re having a hot dog eating contest in a few minutes down there. It was gonna be earlier today, but the rain postponed that too.”

“Oh yeah I am...not hungry enough for that…” On a normal day, Yukhei could probably demolish anyone for ten miles around at something similar, but with the hurricane of butterflies presently in his stomach the thought of one hotdog makes him want to gag.

“You can just watch, stupid,” Donghyuck corrects. “You don’t have to be in it.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“Cool, so just come back after, and I’m sure this will have chilled out.” Donghyuck smiles, and Yukhei just grins in return and wanders off in the direction he pointed, occasionally glancing back to see the boy happily joking as usual. He hears the plank drop and chuckles at the shriek Donghyuck lets out as he falls; it sounds exaggerated to him, but he’s not surprised Donghyuck will resort to theatrics to entertain the players. 

The crowd in front of the contest table is pretty big, but as Yukhei joins it and waits he realizes most of them are just there for a similar reason he is; with the late opening the crowd has condensed and overloaded the available activities, and not everything is fully open just yet. They’re just passing time, same as him, with watching some dude eat way too many cheap processed sausages. 

Four men climb on the stage and take their seats, and Yukhei can pick out the eventual winner almost instantly. A hefty chunk of a guy, with the kind of look in his eyes like he’s already won. Yukhei knows it well. When the judge blows the airhorn to set them off, the guy moves with a ferocity that is almost unsettling, steadily inhaling the hotdogs in a less frantic way than his competitors but with almost animalistic passion; it takes a good while for things to come to an actual end, with no real time limit set, just waiting for everyone else to tap out. His last competitor puts up a valiant efforts considering he’s looked ready to throw up for the preceding ten minutes, and when the guy finally taps out and runs from the stage to hurl elsewhere, the champion bites into one last dog and screams, jumping from his seat in victory.

Some people clap in confused appreciation. Yukhei stares in uncomfortable silence, mildly frightened. He’s seen lots of competitive types, and this kind is by far his least favorite. If there’s anyone he hates pitching to, it’s the guys with the same look in their eyes when they walk up to the plate. 

As the crowd clears away, he decides to grab a snow cone before heading back to Donghyuck, hoping the ice will calm his nerves, further frazzled by the spectacle. The frozen lime flavor melts instantly on his tongue, and it helps more than he anticipated. 

He can do this. Just be casual. Just lock eyes with the most beautiful human on the planet, and tell him he would like his phone number.

_Fuck._

Yukhei shakes his head and rids himself of the empty snow cone paper, then stops procrastinating and returns to the dunk tank.

He’s surprised to find, of all people, the recently crowned hot dog eating champion there, next in line to play. There’s a guy behind him who seems to be his friend, but otherwise no one else, so Yukhei just nods at Donghyuck and waits. 

Things go sour with shocking speed.

“This game’s rigged,” hotdog champion complains loudly as his third throw misses gloriously.

Yukhei snorts, rolling his eyes. He’s seen a thousand guys just like this one whining after their team has lost to the Bombers, making claims of foul play and bad refereeing. 

Donghyuck nods seriously from his seat on the tank. “You’re right,” he says, “I’ve been moving the target around this whole time. There’s a controller up here and everything. Got ya.” 

The guy and his friend blink for a second like they believe him, but Donghyuck’s hands are so clearly empty. Yukhei didn’t realize he could like the boy more, but as he bursts into laughter, he realizes he’s incredibly wrong. 

The two men clearly don’t appreciate the joke, casting offended glances between the boy perched above them and Yukhei behind them. Something like a growl slips from between the meathead’s teeth, and suddenly he stalks forward up to the target. “Screw you, little bitc—”

“Don’t.”

Yukhei doesn’t exactly recall deciding to move, but in a flash he finds himself intercepting and wrapping a firm grip around the guy’s forearm, before he can punch the target and send Donghyuck unfairly dropping into the water. Beady eyes look up at him in surprise, mustard-stained mouth dropping open before turning into a sneer.

“What are you, his bodyguard?” 

“Well, no, but—”

“Then get the fuck out of my way, man, I’m just getting my money’s worth!”

He tries to muscle around the pitcher, but Yukhei twists his arm to an angle he’s sure isn’t comfortable. The guy grunts in pain, glaring at him. 

“Walk away, before I break your arm.” 

Such threatening words have never come from Yukhei’s mouth before, and the nerves at the possibility of having to potentially make good on a promise of violence start to seize him, but the guy falters back with no small amount of fear in his eyes, his friend keeping his distance too. 

“Wait...aren’t you—”

Panic surges in Yukhei’s chest, and he takes a strong step forward. “I said, walk. Away.”

“Alright, I’m going! Asshole…” 

He doesn’t much trust that they won’t just come back and cause trouble later, but Yukhei watches them disappear into the crowd before his shoulders begin to relax. Then he remembers where he is. _Shit, Donghyuck—_

The gaze he meets when he turns isn’t exactly a pleased one.

“That wasn’t needed,” he says flatly. 

“Yeah, ok, but he called you—”

“This is a _dunk tank_ , Yukhei, this kind of thing happens to me like, every single day. People suck, they cheat, they’re rude. It’s whatever.” 

Yukhei frowns. “Wait, every day?” 

“I said, it doesn’t matter. Are you gonna play or not? ‘Cause the line…” Donghyuck leans back on the plank-like seat, resting on a hand and gesturing to the absolute lack of queue with the other. He tucks one foot up under the opposite thigh like none of this bothers him in the slightest, like Yukhei is more bothersome than the jerk from minutes earlier. 

He doesn’t get how anyone could want to be rude to Donghyuck. While other fair workers bleed apathy while running their booths or rides, he smiles like a supernova at everyone who wants to play, joking along with people around his age or encouraging the little kids, or goading the adults with playful challenges. He makes it fun. It’s just a game at a summer fair, but Donghyuck seems to take real pride in it, and the usually long line of people trying to dunk him is testament to his infectious spirit. He’s like Summer incarnate, and Yukhei can’t see anything about him worth insulting. 

There’s plenty he thinks would be worth kissing, though. Hopefully there’s not too many fair-goers sharing that opinion. He doesn’t want the competition, even if they’d be totally correct.

Yukhei sighs. Donghyuck isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s busy pretending to taunt a couple of kids who have just run up shouting about how they don’t even need three whole tries. 

“Sorry for bothering you,” Yukhei mutters, “just wanted to say hi.” 

Yukhei had thought he and Donghyuck were maybe hitting it off, but maybe he’d been off base after all. With that hope disintegrated, he has no reason left to be there.

As he walks away, he shoves the rest of his tickets into Donghyuck’s bucket. He was only there to see him, anyway. 

[admit one]

Saturday. 

As Mark glares at him over the small table in Yukhei’s even tinier kitchen, he wonders at how this week has managed to leave him with an angry Mark Lee like five separate times. He can usually go months without incurring his best friend’s concentrated fury.

“So why didn’t you just apologize?”

“He wouldn’t even look at me anymore. How was I supposed to know that would offend him?”

Mark breathes out slowly through his nose, like gathering patience. “Maybe, and I’m not saying this because I know him or anything, but maybe he’s a really self-reliant person, and maybe he doesn’t want people fighting his battles for him. If I had to guess, based on theory only and not from any information I could have learned another way.” 

“Uh, right, sounds plausible.” 

Mark’s phone buzzes on the table, and he flips it over. “Yeah. So go back, and tell him you’re sorry for overstepping, and get his goddamn phone number.” 

After a night mostly laying awake regretting the entire week, Yukhei is not so inclined to do that. He’d rather just forget all of it, let his injured heart and ego take the hit and slowly, painfully aim for recovery, and maybe never have another crush ever again. 

He whines, “I don’t want to...he looked so mad…”

A smack lands on his forearm, and Yukhei yelps and yanks it out of Mark’s reach. 

“Don’t be a baby. The last time I saw you this lovesick over someone...actually, I don’t even know when that was. I’m not letting you throw this away like a bad pitch!”

“I don’t appreciate the baseball analogy. That’s too personal.”

“This whole thing is personal!” 

“Still hurts.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t ask sooner. What were you waiting for?”

Yukhei shrugs. “Timing? I don’t know. You only get like five minutes to talk to him while you play the game, anyway. That’s not a ton of time to try and get a date.”

“You do know that you’re not confined to the time it takes to try and hit that target, right? You can just walk right up and talk to him,” Mark says, pausing over his coffee and fixing Yukhei with his best thoroughly concerned look.

And Yukhei is an idiot, he realizes extremely belatedly, for not realizing he didn’t have to wait so long. Like, if he was really serious, really determined, he could have just taken the initiative to make it happen. Why he locked himself in around the game? He doesn’t know.

“To be honest, you’re kinda treating this crush like a baseball game. There aren’t innings, Yukhei. He’s probably not keeping score.”

_Ahh._

“So what if I kind of treat everything like that...though…”

Mark shrugs. “Then you need to stop. Figure it out. Start by not letting things end here.”

“But the fair ends on Sunday, which is tomorrow, and we have a game today, and then I don’t know where I would even find him,” Yukhei stresses, twisting his hands over the table. 

“Have you or have you not been talking to him all week? You said you know he goes to school in town and what he’s studying. That seems like plenty of information.” 

Yukhei snorts, lifting his mug to his lips. “And show up at his class or something? That’s basically stalking.” 

“Then go right now.” 

The sip he’d taken falls right back out of Yukhei’s mouth into his cup, inciting a grimace from Mark, and Yukhei sets the cup aside.

“Right-right now? We have to be on the diamond for warm up practice in...two and a half hours.” 

Mark leans over the table. “So you’d better hurry up then, huh?”

There isn’t really a lot of time to think it through. Yukhei bolts out of his chair to find real clothes, or at least a clean t-shirt instead of his bathrobe, and flies toward the door.

“Don’t be late! I’m not covering for you if you are!” Mark yells as he leaves.

“Thanks man, I owe you!” Yukhei shouts back, knowing he will anyway. 

At the gate, Yukhei doesn’t even slow his pace. He skirts the line, heading straight for the entrance, and barely pauses when he gets shouted at.

“Yo, where do you think you’re going?!” Renjun yells, leaning out of his ticket booth. 

Yukhei literally does not have the time, so he just yells in return, “Jeno likes you too! Don’t be a little bitch, and go do something about it!” He doesn’t wait to hear an answer, and focuses on weaving through the crowds on the path he knows by heart at this point. He can hear it before he even sees it, the sloshing tank of water and peals of laughter, and unlike every time Yukhei has carefully approached, pausing when he gets close, this time he doesn’t stop till he’s right at the tank, staring up at Donghyuck and ignoring the confused onlookers.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

Donghyuck blinks at him slowly. “Why’s that?”

“Come down here and find out.” Yukhei hears how demanding that sounds coming out of his mouth, and winces. He takes a deep breath, working some of the adrenaline out, and tries again. “I mean, please. Just two minutes.”

Donghyuck looks at the line of people waiting, then back at Yukhei, and sighs. He scoots back until he can stand up, and waves his hands at the next players who immediately groan and start to whine as he tells them to wait. “Just hold your horses, folks, the show will return.” He hops down and follows Yukhei a short distance away.

Making sure not to stand directly in front of Jisung’s stand, because he doesn’t want this to be part of the entertainment, Yukhei takes another deep breath,

“I’m really sorry,” he starts. “Yesterday when I was here, I stepped in when I didn’t need to, and I apologize for that. It was wrong to make that assumption.” 

The indifferent scowl slowly melts away from Donghyuck’s features, his eyes losing the coldness that they held when Yukhei first walked up. “Really? Thank you...I appreciate that.” 

“Yeah, that’s...good. Again, I’m sorry. I should’ve known you don’t need anybody saving you. Hell, you dunked me with zero effort. I should be asking you to look out for me!”

Donghyuck laughs at that, his cheeks rosy-ing. “Well, I don’t know. If I was ever in actual danger, I think you’d be pretty helpful.” 

“You say that, but what you don’t know is that I’ve never punched anyone before in my life, and I truly don’t know how either. So it would have to be a combined effort,” Yukhei grins, matching Donghyuck, and feeling a warmth in his chest that doesn’t stem from the heat outside at all. 

“I’d be fine with that.” 

“Cool.”

A few seconds pass, just awkwardly smiling at each other, and Yukhei knows he has something else to say, but he’s so relieved that Donghyuck doesn’t seem mad anymore that he’s managed to lose track of exactly what. He could swear his memory isn’t usually this bad, but something about Donghyuck’s eyes makes him lose his train of thought far too fast. 

“Was there...anything else?” Donghyuck poses the question almost hesitantly. 

_Yes. Yes there’s something else. There is…there is..._

“Phone. Phone number!” Yukhei blurts out, startling Donghyuck. “Yeah, can I have your number? To like. To text you, or call, like later. ‘Cause I have to go, I’m already running late, and you have all those people…”

Donghyuck puts his hand out, palm up. “Yeah, give me your phone.”

Yukhei does, and a minute later it’s returned with the precious digits inside. 

“I texted myself, too. So I have yours. Just in case you change your mind later about being friends and don’t text me, so I can yell at you for sucking,” he laughs. 

_Friends._

The word rattles around inside Yukhei’s brain like it’s tiny and silver and his head’s a pinball machine. It spins toward the black hole and Yukhei’s paddles miss, and it’s gone. 

“Great.”

“Super. Okay, I have to go back before that line decides to use me as a pinata instead of dunking me. There is something in the air today, I swear. I’ll hear from you later?” Donghyuck pauses midstep, resting a hand on Yukhei’s arm lightly.

Yukhei manages a smile, and even if it’s not his best one, it’s genuine. He did what he came to do, after all. It just didn’t pan out the way he expected. “Yeah, for sure,” he confirms. Friends is still good. 

He doesn’t leave the fair grounds as with as much urgency, despite having somewhere to be. His energy is a bit sapped, the adrenaline totally gone, and the heat feels oppressive again as he passes out of the gate back into the parking lot. Yukhei glances to the ticket booth to see if Renjun’s waiting to pounce on him while there’s no line, and is not terribly surprised to see another person in the tiny space with him. Jeno, backed up to the back wall, is smiling down at Renjun while he says something, then leans in to kiss him. 

_At least things worked out for someone._ Yukhei thinks, and he can’t really be mad or jealous, since he kinda might’ve been instrumental in making it happen. He’s happy for them, anyway; even if Renjun is prickly, Jeno seems so nice.

When he reaches the field, Mark jogs over. “I told coach you locked your keys in your car,” he says, at which Yukhei rolls his eyes. Now he’ll look suspicious the next time that _actually_ happens, which is sort of often. 

“How’d it go?”

“I apologized. I got his number.”

Mark slaps him hard on the shoulder, in the painful way that he congratulates people. “Fuck yeah!” 

Yukhei feels his shoulders sink. “Uhuh. And he said to make sure to text so I’m not a bad friend.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Mark purses his lips, tries to offer a supportive smile. “Could be worse?”

He’s not wrong, and Yukhei keeps reminding himself of that fact as the day wears on. The sun never lets up, and the humidity kind of clogs his brain even more, and by the end of the night it’s a tie-game, not a win, which feels about right to Yukhei even if it’s not solely because of how he pitches. Like friends, a tie isn’t a loss, it’s just not what he hoped for.

[admit one]

Sunday.

When coach had let them know after the game that they had an unexpected charity Little League event to attend the next day, the team had all collectively groaned. Not because any of them disliked kids—Jaehyun, their utility player, actually is usually the first to volunteer for that stuff—but because it started absurdly early in the morning and was expected to last the majority of the day. Something about a tournament they’d been invited to guest mentor at, last minute, and Coach Choi never said no that sort of thing. 

But the day gives Yukhei many, many hours to think. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to play games with the kids and cheer for them, or to sign autographs and take pictures, so he lets his mind run in the background. The fair ends this day. He’s already got Donghyuck’s phone number, but he somehow feels like he hasn’t played this the whole way through, like he’s stepping off the mound before the last pitch.

No, he doesn’t need a metaphor for it, no analogy to rely on. He knows that while he did ask for his phone number, he didn’t explicitly tell Donghyuck why. He didn’t say the words to him, and by doing so, he left room for doubt. Donghyuck could have taken the question any way he wanted, and from that interpretation given any response. So this one? It’s on Yukhei. Maybe Donghyuck does only have interest in being friends, but unless Yukhei asks him point blank, he won’t know.

And he just doesn’t want to do that over text message. After a week of speaking face to face, it feels cheap. 

Mark knocks his shoulder. “You’re thinking things, I can tell.”

“I think I have to go see him again.” 

“Okay...why?”

“To be sure. You can come if you want, as witness or something, and make sure I don’t fuck it up yet again.”

“Nope,” Mark shakes his head and tosses the ball to the kid he’s playing catch with. “Can’t, I’m busy tonight. You’re a big guy, I’m sure you can handle it.”

The use of the nickname makes Yukhei feel a tad sick. “Please never call me that again.”

By the time the last event finishes, it’s late. The sun no longer sits visible above the horizon, and Yukhei knows that the fair will only be open less than one more hour, part of which he’ll need to use to get there. Mark gives him an encouraging wave when Yukhei drops him off outside their building, and Yukhei drums his fingers on the steering wheel distractedly the rest of the way there. It seems like no one cares much anymore on the last night, the ticket booth abandoned and the gate sitting open regardless, the straggling final fairgoers ambling in and out at will, but mostly out. Things are shutting down as Yukhei passes them, but there’s still light by the dunk tank when he gets to it. 

Like before, Yukhei waits until no one is left playing. He knows Donhyuck knows he’s there; he nodded when he walked up, their unspoken agreement to go as usual.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here today,” Donghyuck comments as Yukhei finally steps up.

“Didn’t think I’d make it. But I felt like I had to give this a shot one more time, you know?”

Donghyuck gestures to the basket of balls, encouraging him to try yet again. “Makes sense,” he says.

Yukhei weighs the first throw in his hand carefully, and thinks about how he wants this to go, and about how that likely won’t happen anyway. He throws it, aiming about half, and isn’t surprised when he misses. 

“Life’s gonna be kind of boring once the fair’s over,” he muses, watching his missed shot roll away as he lines up the second. “Not sure what I’m gonna use all my spare time for.” 

“You’ll think of something.”

He will. He’s got something in mind already. 

Yukhei throws the second, which hits the clown in the face, which is in fact not where the target is.

Donghyuck chuckles, shaking his head but clearly not expecting anything else. “I should give you some kind of prize just for consistency. It’s too bad most of the prize games are closed already.”

There’s nothing Yukhei would want from out of those items anyway. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s come to the final point of being there, with his last throw in his hand and the stars twinkling overhead past the gently swaying fairground lights. 

“How about this,” suggests Yukhei, putting all his effort into making his gaze as pinning as possible, like he knows he’s been able to in the past. “If I miss this, I’ll tell you a secret, and you can brag about it for the rest of the summer.”

Donghyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. It’s no surprise he’s intrigued; he’s totally the type to enjoy a secret that gives him personal gain.

“And if you dunk me?”

“Then you agree to let me drive you home tonight, beautiful.” It’s all or nothing at this point, and Yukhei throws the petname on at the end just to make sure his meaning gets across as clearly as possible this time. “Because I like you, Donghyuck, and I came here to tell you that tonight.” 

This is the final inning, the last pitch, and he’s placing all his bets on himself this time. 

Donghyuck’s amused grin slides off his face instantly, and that’s not very encouraging but Yukhei doesn’t falter.

“O-oh. You want to...oh. Okay.” 

“Okay?”

He nods his head a few times quickly and grips the sides of the plank, his small knuckles whitening at the pressure. “Yeah. I’ll take your bet. Go ahead.” 

“You..you’ll take it. Okay. Alright. Shotgun picks the music, by the way,” Yukhei says casually, then winds back his arm. He fixes his eyes on the target, imagines the black of Mark’s catcher’s mitt there instead, and whips the ball at it in full professional form, feeling the twist in his hips as his left knee rises before he shifts to that foot, kicks the other behind him. It feels like breathing, like an involuntary movement, and a thousand times more natural than all his faked bad attempts from the past week. And when the ball hits the target dead center the wood cracks and the mechanism sticks, even as the plank releases the small lock holding both it and Donghyuck above the water.

Donghyuck shrieks in surprise as he drops the short distance, the sound going garbled as the water absorbs it. When he comes up spluttering, Yukhei can’t help the peal of laughter that bursts from his lips at just how wide Donghyuck’s eyes are, just how red his face.

“What the _fuck_ was that?!” he all but yells, staring at Yukhei like he’s never seen him before.

“I guess you underestimated me.” Yukhei gathers the balls for the game one final time, putting it back in order while Donghyuck makes no move to climb out the water. He simply treads, his chin in the water and wet-lashed eyes staring at Yukhei in continued disbelief.

“There’s no way…but like, how did you just...can you do that again?”

Yukhei considers it. “Sure, I totally could, but I’m pretty sure I broke it.” The target hasn’t swung back to its starting place, nor has Donghyuck’s seat rebounded, so he’s fairly certain the game’s gonna need a little maintenance if anyone plans to use it again next year. He can’t find it in himself to really care. “I can throw at something else, if you want?” He takes the balls and tosses all three at the clown’s nose, hitting it square on three times consecutively. “That good enough for you?”

“I don’t know what happened here, or what magic trick you just pulled, but okay, you definitely win the bet,” Donghyuck admits. His voice grows quiet toward the end, and the way he looks at Yukhei strikes him as nearly shy.

Yukhei clears his throat, checks his watch. “How long until you’re done here?”

“W-what’s the time now?”

“Eight-twenty-four.” 

“So like...s-six minutes...ish. I have to, um, close everything up.”

“Sure, no problem,” Yukhei smiles comfortably, “I’ll wait on the bench over past the cotton candy stand, alright?”

Donghyuck nods slowly, finally taking hold of the ladder poles. “Right. Great.” 

“Cool. See you in a bit.”

Yukhei turns and walks towards the bench, and the moment he’s out of sight of the tank he jumps and punches the air and mimes a few fastballs because if he doesn’t do _something_ he’ll probably explode with nerves and the thrill of victory. He can hardly believe it worked, that he managed to say it, that Donghyuck even _agreed_ to the bet, and yet it’s somehow true.

When Donghyuck rounds the booths and comes into view a short while later, still dripping and looking a little owlish, Yukhei barely contains his jitters and remains calm on the bench. 

“Hey.” 

Donghyuck stops, shuffles his feet in his sandals. “Hey. I should, um, I should let Jaemin know I don’t need a ride tonight. First, before we uh…”

“Sure, of course.”

It’s strange to be walking next to Donghyuck again, to be looking down and again actually aware of how much shorter than Yukhei he is as they head toward Jaemin’s concession stand. Some of the heat has dissipated from the air, leaving it temperate unless, perhaps, you’re just wearing shorts and a tank and have recently gotten them both wet, and Yukhei sees a tiny shiver ripple over Donghyuck’s skin with the lukewarm breeze that brushes by them. They walk in silence, which is even weirder, an unexpected contrast to Donghyuck’s normal teasing banter when he’s sitting up above Yukhei in the tank. But like this, Yukhei could reach just a couple of inches and take his hand, could shrug the light denim button-up off his shoulders and drape it over Donghyuck’s to take care of that shiver, and he’s just considering which idea he thinks Donghyuck is less likely to reject when they come to a stop outside the closed-down concession stand.

“He closed it already?” Donghyuck asks rhetorically, his head swivelling as he searches the darkened stand. “Jaemin! Jaemin Na!” 

Yukhei shrugs. “Maybe he went home?”

“No,” Donghyuck shakes his head, “he knows I don’t have a car. What the hell. This isn’t like him at all.” He sighs, tapping his fingers in succession on the ordering counter. “He’s got my stuff in the back room too, fuck. Maybe that’s still open…”

He leads Yukhei around the side of the stand to a door at the back. There’s a bicycle leant up against the wall, and Yukhei thinks he’s seen a similar model somewhere before, then can’t help cracking a smile as he sees a Bombers’ sticker wrapped around one of the frame bars. Nice to know they have fans everywhere.

Which reminds him—

“Hey, Donghyuck, by the way, there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Donghyuck asks, glancing back at Yukhei as he twists the door handle.

“Yeah, so I actually play for the—the uuhh...the fuck? Mark?”

Yukhei loses his train of thought, the cars wandering off the tracks one by one as Donghyuck pulls the door open and they’re met with the sight of Mark Lee, Bombers’ star catcher, lip-locked with the blonde concessions cashier who’s got both hands rucking Mark’s shirt up and fingers actively roaming his toned stomach. They’re precariously balanced on a flipped-over wash bucket, the blonde straddling Mark’s thigh until the second Yukhei speaks, at which point he tumbles sideways to the floor and Mark jolts back and bangs his head hard on a shelf of cleaning supplies. He groans and presses a hand to his hair, the other over his lap rather indiscreetly. 

The sigh Donghyuck releases redefines disappointed. He rubs a hand over his eyes, resting the other on his hip tiredly. “God dammit, Jaemin. Why do you always have to be such a hoe?”

The blonde smiles, pressing the inside of his wrist to the corner of his red lips that glisten still. “Don’t know what you mean. We were just talking.”

Mark snorts, but looks fond. “That’s right.”

“We were talking _very closely_ because Mark was having a hard time hearing me over all the fair noise.”

“What are you even doing here, Mark? I thought you…” Yukhei pauses, eyeing Mark’s embarrassed flush and letting the pieces click into place. “You were...busy. Which is why you couldn’t come with me today...and. Earlier this week...nachos…” 

“He makes really good nachos.”

“I make _amazing_ nachos.” Jaemin tilts his head to his shoulder, grinning up at Mark with an impressively brilliant set of teeth. “It’s my second best skill.” 

“What’s your first best sk—”

Donghyuck groans. “Do not ask him that question, he’s baiting you, oh my god. Give me my phone and my hoodie please, Yukhei’s gonna drive me home since you’re obviously busy.” 

Jaemin reaches into the shadowy recesses of the back room and produces Donghyuck’s effects, scrambling to his feet to hand them over but smirking all the while. “Interesting, I thought you weren’t really into jocks, but maybe I don’t know my little biffle as well as I thought?” 

“Stop saying the acronym like that, it’s weird. Good- _bye,_ Jaemin.”

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows, letting Mark pull him backwards down into his lap again. Donghyuck grips Yukhei’s elbow and pushes him away, ignoring the kisses Jaemin starts blowing at him, and Yukhei just gives Mark a wave, because his brain is still short-circuiting around the picture of Mark making out with a sharp-tongued pretty _boy_ which destroys the partially formed concept Yukhei had of Mark just being ace, and Donghyuck’s still holding his elbow even though they’ve slowed down as they reach the gate, his fingers warm and a little pruned against the sensitive skin in Yukhei’s elbow crook, and it’s definitely the most they’ve touched so far—

“Where’s your car at?” His hand drops from Yukhei’s arm as he peers into the large lot.

“It’s this way,” Yukhei says, focusing as much as he can, and heads for the distant corner where he parked. Only the sound of gravel crunching under their shoes fills the silence now. Yukhei nervously hopes it doesn’t mean they don’t have any chemistry outside proximity of the carnival game. 

The backs of their hands bump as they walk, and Donghyuck pulls in and twists his hands in his damp shirt. Yukhei could scream.

Donghyuck clears his throat. “So, that was that guy? Your friend Mark?”

Oh, right. “Yeah, he’s on the team with me, too.”

“The team?”

“That’s what I was going to tell you. I play baseball, like, semi-professional. I’m a pitcher.” 

Donghyuck stops immediately and stares at him with an open jaw. His face is flushed a deep red, and he stabs a finger into Yukhei’s chest.

“You ass! You were making fun of me! You’re a fucking pitcher? This whole week you were just faking??”

“Yeah—I mean no!” Yukhei throws his hands up in surrender. “I was faking, but I wasn’t making fun of you! Most people seem to know who I am,”—Donghyuck scoffs—”so I was surprised you didn’t...it was nice, just being like, anonymous. It was fun.”

Donghyuck frowns, twisting his lips into a miffed little sneer. It’s adorable, and Yukhei would really love to kiss it if he wasn’t too scared of Donghyuck being legitimately angry at him. 

“Still, you took advantage of me,” the tanned volunteer says, starting to walk again, “with that bet. I had no idea.”

Yukhei trails after him. “Yeah, a little. I’m sorry.” He stares at Donghyuck’s sandals, feeling penitent. “If you’re mad, I’ll understand. You don’t have to ride with me.”

“Hell no, you owe me now, you had better drive me home and anywhere else I wanna go. And anyway, I’m not going back there and interrupting them again just to have Jaemin drive me. Who knows what I’ll end up seeing.” He shudders and Yukhei catches up with him, laughing. 

The image of Mark with Jaemin in his lap, mouths pressed together and sighing, enters Yukhei’s mind again, and he swallows. He’d be lying if he said it hadn’t left him a little hotter than before, and walking beside the little sun god with wet hair still occasionally dripping onto his nose doesn’t make his plight any easier. 

“Definitely not,” he says, “they could be doing anything by now.” 

They scuff in silence for another minute.

“Um, by the way,” Yukhei starts, thinking he at least wants to tell Donghyuck how attractive he is, while he’s got limited time, “have I told you I think you’re really beautiful?”

“You did call me that.”

“Right, I did, but I mean more than just casually, I really think you’re gorgeous, I just want to be clear about that. Not that I’m fishing for anything, it’s something I wanted to say—” he swallows again, rambling and conscious of it but unable to stop, “—to you, you’re like the prettiest person I’ve ever seen—”

“Hey, Yukhei?”

“Yes?”

Donghyuck turns sharply and grabs Yukhei’s shirt collar, hauling himself up on his toes and abruptly smacking an open-mouthed kiss on Yukhei’s lips. He pulls back a second later. “Thanks. You’re hot too.” 

“Oh.”

They’re just in the middle of the parking lot, nothing but dust and the odd darkened car around them, but the moonlight shines down and makes Donghyuck’s eyes glitter, and he hasn’t moved away. He’s just there, not above and behind some wall where Yukhei can’t reach, but basically in his arms, and he just _kissed_ Yukhei, which all are good signs that maybe it’s fine for Yukhei to try that again.

So he does. 

Bending down and cupping his hands behind Donghyuck’s neck, Yukhei captures his lips again and this time prolongues things, trying not to rush despite the rocket pace of his heartbeat and the sharp breathing that Donghyuck struggles with every few seconds. It feels perfect. Donghyuck feels perfect. He tastes like funnel cake and cherry coke and Yukhei could literally eat him. Well, maybe not, but he tastes good enough to. 

“H-hey,” Donghyuck interrupts.

“Yeah?” Yukhei pulls back, relishing the shine on Donghyuck’s lips in the low light.

Donghyuck licks his lip, not helping anything, and says, “Your car…”

A twinge of disappointment. “Oh yeah.”

“No...I mean, they don’t have to be the only ones...making nachos, tonight.”

Yukhei blinks at him. “I can’t believe you made that into a euphemism, like I’m genuinely shocked right now, but uh yeah hell yes. This way.” He grabs Donghyuck’s hand and starts speed walking, Donghyuck following and laughing as they go.

Yukhei has only just a flash of enough thought to be grateful he parked in the far back of the gravel lot, where the trees hang low over the hood of his truck and obscure the windows a certain amount, and where there aren’t many cars left parked this close to the end of the night anyway. It makes it a lot less of a worry that someone might see him pushing the passenger seat all the way forward to the dash, so he can fit both himself and Donghyuck into the back of the roomy cab and still have enough room to get their clothes off. 

“Of course you drive a truck.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes while Yukhei makes quick work of removing the drenched tank from his body, tossing it on the seat and not even caring about it getting the leather wet. Donghyuck’s hoodie and phone are already discarded on the floor. “You don’t have to follow every baseball player stereotype, you know.” 

Yukhei puts his hands on Donghyuck’s hips and shifts him back, reveling in the tiny hitch of breath the move pulls out of Donghyuck, and following so he can angle himself between the legs of the little sun god he’s finally got in his grasp. His fingers itch, pinching the damp band of his swim trunks. 

“I know, but I like it,” says Yukhei simply. 

“It’s fucking huge.” 

“So’s the guy driving.” 

Donghyuck props himself up on his elbows and levels a blank look at him, his eyes dropping to Yukhei’s lower half for a moment before rising again. “Was that a dick joke?”

And maybe Yukhei isn’t always great with words, or with knowing when to make a move, but they’re in his territory now and he sure knows how to throw a fastball. Pressing his hips forward and leaning into the seat, Yukhei pulls Donghyuck into him by the waist. 

“That’s a dick _promise_ , baby,” he says, rolling his hips forward slowly, tracking his eyes over Donghyuck’s skin that glows even in the darkened vehicle, watching the way his stomach tenses, “there’s no joking going on in these jeans.” 

Donghyuck’s hands grab for Yukhei’s forearms as he slides against the leather. “That is awful but I’m—” Yukhei rolls his hips again a little faster, and Donghyuck hisses, “ _fuck_ , I don’t care, I’ve been staring at you all week and if you make me wait any longer I’m gonna lose it.” Slightly pruney fingers jump to Yukhei’s neck and pull him down, the baseball player folding himself in half to meet in a messy kiss. 

Not allowing himself to dwell too long on the fact that Donghyuck’s been watching him all week too, Yukhei focuses on finally touching as much of the sun-kissed skin that’s plagued his mind since he first saw Donghyuck. He shifts his hands across his torso, finally settling one on Donghyuck’s navel, pressing his thumb lightly into the cute dip of his bellybutton, and hums in satisfaction to find that his hand stretches far enough to still wrap around his side and squeeze the pliant skin. Yukhei mirrors with his other hand, and Donghyuck whimpers at the pressure as his waist becomes hidden behind Yukhei’s calloused palms. It amazes him that someone so little can make him so crazy.

The other boy’s lips are smaller and so soft, a plush little heart below Yukhei’s mouth and he just wants to kiss him till they’re swollen and tender, but Donghyuck seems to want to breathe still, ducking his head away and panting hot air onto Yukhei’s shoulder. So Yukhei turns his lips against the side of the boy’s neck instead, finding one of the pretty, freckle-like moles he knows is there and pressing a smooch to it, then another, longer one. 

Donghyuck wriggles underneath him, trunks transferring water into Yukhei’s jeans where they’re pressed together, and he’d probably be arching if Yukhei didn’t still have him pinned to the seat with both hands, lips moving to attend to another mole lower at the center of his throat. 

“What are you doing?” Donghyuck huffs, quirking a knee around Yukhei’s thigh and squeezing. 

“You’re covered in these,” says Yukhei, nipping at the mole on his neck before drawing back and scanning over his face, mapping out the tiny brown islands in the sea of warm skin. 

Donghyuck nods. “I was born with them, but all the sun makes them stand out more.” When Yukhei continues to stare, mesmerized by the tiny dots, Donghyuck laughs. “What?”

“You’re just…god, you’re so pretty. They’re really pretty.”

There’s a square of them, four delicate moles that Yukhei leans in to touch his lips to; first, out on the height of his cheekbone, second, in close to the bridge of his nose below Donghyuck’s left eye, third, straight down just above his lip, and fourth, back out on the soft center of his cheek. As he kisses each one Yukhei can feel Donghyuck’s eyes on him, following the trail he takes, and his heart races.

Once he’s kissed them all, Yukhei meets Donghyuck’s eyes again, unable to help his shy smile.

“That was romantic…”

“Like I said, you’re very pretty.” 

Donghyuck blushes. “Thank you.” 

“And, I really would still like if you’d go out with me, even after we have sex in my truck.”

“A little less romantic,” Donghyuck deadpans, “but okay. That works for me...as long as we hurry up and get to the sex part? I don’t know how you’re managing right now but I could really use some friction.” 

Yukhei grins and obliges, sliding a hand down to palm between Donghyuck’s legs over his swim trunks, feeling proud when the boy tips his head back and groans, hips stuttering up at the touch. He presses the heel of his palm down a little firmer, and Donghyuck squirms, his fingers clawing at the cotton of Yukhei’s shirt over his shoulders. 

“Off, everything off,” he whines into Yukhei’s ear. 

The pitcher obliges again, leaning back to discard his shirt and Donghyuck’s trunks, then slide his jeans down to a manageable level, only banging his elbow into the car door twice in the process. When he’s done he looks up to see Donghyuck’s eyes glued to him, or rather his… ahem. Batting equipment. 

Donghyuck bites his lip, then says, “I sort of hate that you really weren’t joking. You might kill me with that.” 

“I’ll try not to, but I do have really, really good aim.” 

Yukhei reaches for Donghyuck’s hips again while Donghyuck laughs, getting them both into a better position, and allows himself to be pulled into another messy kiss. With the warmth of the tan body below him, shuddering at his touches and making him shudder right back, Yukhei no longer cares how many failed pitches he’s had over the past week. Even with a few lousy innings, it’s still a home run. 

Or whatever. He doesn’t really need analogies.

[0:00 - time out!] 

It’s the bottom of the ninth, and the bases are loaded. Yukhei stretches his shoulder, rolling the muscle back to loosen it and pushing down the annoyance at such a cliche position to be in, the pressure high and nearly strangling. His team is ahead, just barely, but if he doesn’t strike the batter out they could easily lose it all, and he knows this to be their opponent’s best hitter. The guy has scary concentration, and a swing that could crack bones. 

But Yukhei has a 98 mph fastball when he’s on his game, and two outs. 

This is a standoff. 

A bead of sweat runs down Yukhei’s temple. He pulls his arm back.

The first throw isn’t his fastest but it is a strike, and Yukhei keeps his cool, doesn’t let his excitement show. Pitching is a mental game, and he can’t show anything more than calm confidence lest he tell the batter anything he doesn’t need to know. 

Turning the next ball in his glove, Yukhei lines up for the second throw. He can already hear the ball slapping into Mark’s glove behind the base, and focuses on that sound, wills it into existence. 

He throws, and the hard smack of Mark’s mitt meeting the hide of the ball echoes in his ears along with the ecstatic cheering of the crowd. 

Yukhei turns away from home plate, allowing himself a small grin as he catches the next ball tossed to him. Just one more pitch, one more strike, and it’s a win in the books. He’s got this, he can do it, and finish off a record breaking rookie season on top of the world. 

He rolls his shoulder again, lines up, and whips the ball towards the plate. 

There’s a crack, but it’s the wrong kind of sound—a bat, not a glove—and Yukhei’s heart nearly stops. His eyes dart to the ball, nerves flared, and watch it soar through the air way to the left. Someone in back field zips back to second base, just evading Yukhei’s second baseman and keeping himself in the game. Sticking his hand behind his back, Yukhei crosses his fingers and prays, waiting for the call with breath held tight in his lungs…

The umpire shouts. It’s a foul ball. 

Exhaling painfully slowly through his nose, Yukhei snaps his glove to catch the ball for the next pitch, knowing in his chest that it’ll be the last, be it strike or score. He squares his shoulders, pressing the pads of his fingers into the seams of the ball, and looks hard at the plate. 

Mark drops two fingers between his crouched knees, swirls them, and twists his hand into a tight fist—he’s signaling Yukhei to let loose, to rip the ball hard and fast, to bring the heat. 

Yukhei’s shoulder feels tight. He’s pitched most of the game, everything but the sixth inning when Jaehyun stepped in to give him a break, and he’s nearly drained. It’s just one more pitch, but it’s the most important one, and the stress builds like the growing pool of sweat down his back that’s seeped into his uniform. He gets a supportive nod from Mark, but Yukhei needs more than that to pitch his best. Normally he tries to focus solely on the game and not become distracted by anything, but he can’t help it; he glances up, just for a moment, past home plate to the stands right behind it, to a seat he has memorized. There, wearing Yukhei’s jersey and a baseball cap in his colors pushed back to the crown of his head, sits a golden tanned boy, his fists clenched tight at his chest and eyes staring hard right back at him.

Donghyuck. 

When he catches Yukhei’s eyes, his hand twists and offers a tiny finger heart, instantly gone a second later. 

That’s all it takes.

Yukhei flicks his eyes back down. He ignores the batter, the player not important to him, and trains his focus on Mark’s mitt, visualizes the ball singing into it so fast Mark will give him shit afterwards for the bruise on his hand, so fast it would shatter the wooden target on a dunk tank into smithereens. 

He nods to Mark, leans back, lifts his knee, and pitches the ball to home plate.

The time between when the ball collides with Mark’s glove and when the stadium explodes into noise is so short Yukhei isn’t even sure it registers in his brain. All he knows is that his entire team is charging at him onto the field, Mark’s equipment left in the dust as he jump tackles Yukhei while screaming unintelligibly. There’s people all over him, and the shouting is horrendously loud, and for a minute Yukhei doesn’t even know what’s happened until he sees the radar.

He broke his own record. He pitched a 99, a full mile-an-hour faster than his previous high speed. 

Jaehyun slings an arm around his shoulder, his eyes crinkled into happy crescents. “That was the cheese, Wong! The fuckin’ _queso_. Ace!” he shouts at Yukhei, pulling him into a congratulatory hug. 

Yukhei claps him on the back, thanks him, and extracts himself from the team around him to where he can at least glance up at the stands. Donghyuck is on his feet, cheering wildly and waving, and Yukhei finally gets hit with the glory of it all. He lets out a loud whoop, sending the team into a new round of cheering, and then presses a kiss into his palm—meeting Donghyuck’s eyes, Yukhei makes a fist, pulling it back and miming a much sweeter pitch. He watches giddily as Donghyuck pretends to follow the trajectory of the kiss with his eyes, hands wide open for it, closing around it in a perfect catch that sends him flopping back into his seat. The boy presses both hands to his heart, holding Yukhei’s gaze and still laughing. 

It’s cheesy as fuck, and Yukhei has never been more in love.

To think, it all started with a dunk tank.

**Author's Note:**

> The temptation to title this “Dunk Shot” was incredibly strong. But I prevailed.  
> Also, with all the research I did on baseball for this, we are just ignoring the usual schedules for minor & major league games, and assuming that a u-20 team doesn’t play every single day during the season...or something. I was too far in before I became aware of that bit of info. Sorry for the inaccuracy.  
> Also 2.0 I didn’t get to include it, but the catcher’s gear is called “Tools of Ignorance” and if that doesn't spark joy, I don’t know how to help you.
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ImJaeBabie)   
> || [twt](https://twitter.com/imjaebabie?lang=en)   
> 


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